


Between Blue and Gray

by Morbane



Category: Black Jewels - Anne Bishop
Genre: Art, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical language, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Female Friendship, Gen, Magic, Minor Violence, Misunderstandings, Road Trips, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-01-22 01:16:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1570571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morbane/pseuds/Morbane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surreal and Wilhelmina have similar doubts about settling in the Shadow Realm.</p><p>[doubts that they try to settle with a jaunt to Amdarh, which does and does not go as a trip the city should go. There are goats, fights, murder, and a play.]</p><p>See chapters 2 and 3 for art by <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/Desiderii">Desiderii</a> (also <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4402538">here</a> - with way better captions :D). Desiderii has also created a <a href="http://8tracks.com/instanteternity/between-blue-and-gray">mix</a> to accompany the fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ambyr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambyr/gifts).



> Thanks to Lorata, Susy, NightsMistress, and daniomalley22 for suggestions and direction; especial thanks to daniomalley22 and inevitableentresol for encouragement, general suggestions, and line editing. ♥

Surreal stretched slowly, luxuriously, using Craft to squeeze water out of her long black hair. Mother Night, but it felt good to scrub off sweat from the morning combat session - and any that lingered from the night before. Wrapping a towel around herself, she crossed from her personal bathing room to the balcony that overlooked the garden, wanting to feel the breeze on her skin.

It was a rare moment of privacy. Before coming to the Hall in Kaeleer, bathing alone was something she'd considered a right; it irked her to note this, too, as a luxury.

She had spent the night with Falonar. Graysfang, the Kindred wolf who had appointed himself her escort, had attempted to trail along, but where one person's exasperation was ineffective, combined firmness from two had succeeded in dissuading him. That, and the threat that _two_ sets of feet were ready to kick him off the bed.

Now Falonar was on guard duty, and Graysfang had not - yet - realised she lacked male company.

She had been informed that Protocol gave her one easy way to rid herself of Graysfang's company: if she officially recognised another male, such as Falonar, as her mate, she would move Graysfang down the hierarchy of males who served her. Considering the source - Saetan, her newly adopted patriarch - she suspected it was far from the only means within Protocol to get Graysfang to give her more space. Saetan had probably chosen his suggestion because he knew she was unlikely to do any such thing. 

Last night had been enjoyable. For the most part. If she and Falonar were to be regular lovers, there were a few kinks they needed to work out. For example, she'd understood his reluctance to lie on his back during sex, because of the way this restricted the musculature of his wings (and how did mated Eyrien pairs come to an agreement about this? Was it standing in the bedroom only? She needed to talk to Marian). That hadn't been a problem. What _had_ been was the distinct impression she'd received that by agreeing to the same position herself, she was demonstrating some kind of inferiority.

She wondered how Falonar would react if he knew how many men she’d killed as they thrust from above her. Poor prissy Eyrien warrior would probably have conniptions.

The image of Falonar sputtering vanished from her mind's eye when she realised that the peaceful garden she'd been gazing at _wasn't_ empty. A small figure sat on a central bench. The figure's dark hair and clothing, under Kaeleer's weak sunlight, had almost blended into the bark of the tree behind him - or her? Yes, her - as Surreal squinted, she recognised Wilhelmina.

Movement would have caught her eye sooner; Wilhelmina must have been sitting silently there long before Surreal had walked out onto the balcony.

Well, it was good to see she was well enough to be out of her rooms, following yesterday's attack.

Surreal was starting to feel cold. She shook her head and went in to dress, leaving Wilhelmina her privacy.

She frowned at the choices available to her. To cross between Realms, she'd packed tunics that would wear well and allow her to pass unremarked. They were neither fine enough for formal occasions, nor rough enough that she was willing to sacrifice them to the inevitable tears and stains of Lucivar's training regime. If she were to stay at the Hall, she'd want clothes suitable for fighting in and clothes suitable for Court audiences. The latter, she suspected, was by far the more dangerous of the two circumstances; luckily, fine attire was a weapon she wielded as comfortably as her favourite knives.

Additional clothing would be necessary and useful, _if_ she were staying.

She had excellent reasons to stay at the Hall. The Hall was the home of Jaenelle, the strangest and most spectacular witch Surreal had ever met; it was curiosity about Jaenelle's fate that had finally drawn her to Kaeleer. Because the Hall was Jaenelle's home, it was now also the home of Daemon, Surreal's oldest friend. It was ruled by Saetan, who had - in some way - adopted her, and who, as ruler of Hell, could arrange contact between Surreal and the mother she'd believed irretrievably lost. And there was the little matter of a contract signed for eighteen months with the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih, Lucivar, Daemon's half-brother.

Surreal scowled. Screw that contract.

Nothing else. Not the people. Just that contract. She'd had a token of free passage when she'd come through the Gate from Terreille - then Lucivar had strong-armed Surreal into placing herself under his authority.

When she'd realised he'd done it to prevent her from being used against Jaenelle and the Hall by their enemies, she'd felt a grudging acceptance. Tempered by an awareness of all the privileges her contract - and new family - brought her. 

But she was _good_ at grudges. 

Dressed, she went back to the balcony. Wilhelmina was still sitting on her bench, her hands still folded in her lap, her shoulders slightly hunched. Surreal frowned. The inner garden was a beautiful and peaceful square of living greenery; it had surely been designed for meditation, and especially for Blood who needed to reaffirm their connection to the land. But Wilhelmina looked tense, trapped. 

Whatever she was thinking, Surreal suspected they weren't thoughts she wanted to be alone with.

She latched the balcony door with a deliberate rattle. Wilhelmina looked up. Surreal raised a hand in greeting and got a smile in return. There; that would do for an invitation; now she might wander down to the garden without feeling as though she was intruding.

Before Wilhelmina's family had attempted to kidnap her yesterday, the longest Surreal had spent with the woman was the Coach ride to the Hall. Surreal had been worried about Daemon, and fuming about Lucivar. Wilhelmina had been wary and quiet. She didn’t recall they'd exchanged any words. 

And what would they have had to say to each other? After Cassandra's Altar, Surreal had rarely returned to Chaillot. The spilling of Jaenelle's blood had unleashed a terrible spell on Briarwood's uncles; though Surreal had been tempted to return to finish them all, she'd been warned off. 

This morning at practice, briefing those unaware of the kidnapping attempt, Lucivar had mentioned the Angelline family's earlier reunion with Wilhelmina. It seemed she'd been living apart from them from some while. _Good for her_. "I almost believed they cared about her," Lucivar had remarked. _Not so good for them_ , Surreal thought, her mouth twisting at the thought of Alexandra's hypocrisy.

And where did that leave Wilhelmina? At least her new family had proven they were serious about her protection. 

But maybe that was a problem of its own. Surreal knew she had skills Lucivar valued - though the delicate matter of what an honourable Eyrien warrior thought of assassins had not yet been discussed - but where she could demand respect as a fighter, Wilhelmina had clearly never handled a weapon before. She wasn't a Queen or a Healer or a Black Widow, to train with Jaenelle and her Circle. She was simply a Sister.

"Lady Benedict," Surreal greeted her, having finally found the correct door that led out from the lower corridor into the gardens.

"Lady SaDiablo," Wilhelmina replied. She unclenched her hands long enough to gesture courteously at the seat beside her, then clasped them again.

"Just Surreal will do," Surreal said, wincing. She was _never_ going to live down the consequences of taking Dorothea's name.

"So will Wilhelmina," said Wilhelmina, then ducked her head. "Though I know it's a mouthful!"

There was a pause. Wilhelmina was smiling, but seemed unsure of what to say next. Tact wasn't Surreal's strong point. Never mind. "I suppose you're glad enough of it right now," Surreal said, "but why 'Benedict', and not 'Angelline'? Did you change your name when you left Chaillot?"

"No," Wilhelmina said. "I'm not related to the Angellines by blood. I was two years old when Robert married Leland. I suppose most males marrying into the family of the Territory Queen _would_ have given their... daughter... their new family's name, rather than their own." Gazing into the distance, she pursed her lips in a sour expression Surreal had seen mirrored on Jaenelle's face. "Robert probably thought he was more important than Alexandra." She gave Surreal an almost apologetic look. "I'm not fond of my father's memory."

"Why do you keep his name, then?" Surreal asked.

Now Wilhelmina's cold smile was an expression Surreal recognised from her own mirror. "I'm sure he thought of it as something he stamped on me," she said. "I prefer to think of it as the last thing I took from him."

 _That_ was a sentiment Surreal could understand completely. "I'll drink to that," she said. 

Wilhelmina's smile gained a little warmth, then she ducked her head again, staring into her lap. "Mm," she said, just audibly.

Surreal wasn't sure what she'd said. She tried again. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh! I think I'm quite fine," Wilhelmina said quickly. "I don't think anyone Lady Karla healed would dare be _anything_ but fine," she added.

"Does she snap at the people she's healing, too?" Surreal asked. 

"Oh, no," Wilhelmina said. "She's just _intense_." She paused. "I think she likes me."

"I think she snaps at the people she likes," Surreal said.

"Oh, yes."

Another pause.

"Are you resting today on Healer's orders, then?"

Wilhelmina hesitated. "Yes," she said. "This garden is peaceful."

Surreal knew a lie when she heard one. But it was a strange thing to lie about.

Surreal looked around them. It occurred to her that Wilhelmina had chosen the spot in the garden that would be visible from the most angles. Despite the nearby tree, she could see almost every window that looked out onto this garden - which meant that Wilhelmina had placed herself in such a way as to be visible from all of them.

"Hell of a way to get solitude," she commented.

Wilhelmina's fingers were white with strain where they twined around each other. "It seemed like a good compromise," she said uncertainly. "I don't belong with the Queens - and some of them are so _loud!_ \- and fierce - even if they wanted me around. But I know I should stay... somewhere they can keep an eye on me."

Surreal opened her mouth and closed it again. She didn't think Wilhelmina's family was going to try anything after the wave of dark power that Jaenelle had unleashed yesterday. She didn't think Osvald, Wilhelmina's would-be kidnapper, _existed_ any longer, in any realm. And if by some dark chance the Angelline family wasn't the only set of enemies at hand, she thought Jaenelle's power would have made others cautious, too.

But she wasn't sure just saying that would change how Wilhelmina _felt_ after an associate of her grandmother's - with Alexandra's full endorsement - had set a compulsion spell on her, drugged her, killed her guard in front of her, and when cornered, attempted to stab her with a poisoned knife.

Maybe it was time for Surreal to earn her keep. "If you want a bodyguard," she said, a little reluctantly, "I don't have anything to do right now." 

Wilhelmina gave Surreal a nervous smile. "Thank you," she said. "I... I'm not sure that would count, though."

Surreal bristled. "If you don't think I can look after you..."

"Oh! Oh, I do," Wilhelmina said anxiously. "It's just... you're a stranger too."

Surreal processed this. "You think the people here want to watch you because they don't trust _you_ ," she said slowly.

Wilhelmina gave a jerky shrug. "I'm Jaenelle's family," she said, "but... I'm her family from Chaillot. Saetan even said it... that Jaenelle should have left Chaillot and come here long ago. But she stayed for me."

Surreal needed to have a word with Saetan. Well. Maybe. She'd thought better of him... but she wasn't sure she had the guts to ream him out for this. Not when it concerned Jaenelle.

"You were fourteen," she said. She remembered the uncles' party, the barely adolescent girls circled by the men.

"Jaenelle was twelve," Wilhelmina said, as if that contradicted Surreal.

"You should _both_ have left Chaillot," Surreal muttered.

"If Jaenelle had asked me, I'm not sure I would have gone," Wilhelmina said quietly. "I knew Briarwood was terrible, but she never really told me why. She wanted to protect me so much. So I didn't even realise what it was she was protecting me from.

"I mean... it's not my fault she stayed," she asserted. "I know that. _Jaenelle_ doesn't blame me for it. But I don't blame _them_ ," waving her hand up at the apartment windows, "for not trusting me. I'm not... with... Philip and Leland and Alexandra. But once I loved them. Trusted them. Obeyed them."

Tears glistened in her eyes. "So they gave me Dejaal to... keep an eye on me, and it was nice of them to not give me a strange human male or one of the Queens, who... probably have better things to do anyway, don't they? I liked Dejaal. He wasn't sure about me but he didn't feel... suspicious.

"But I don't want them to assign me another Kindred escort," she said, beginning to sniffle in earnest. "I know I'm probably safe from Alexandra now. But... I don't want someone else like Dejaal to be killed because he's protecting me." She gave a great gulp and wrapped her arms around herself, rocking back and forth on the bench with the effort to keep from sobbing outright.

Surreal patted her awkwardly on the back: once, twice. "I think you're safe now," she said.

There was a howl from an apartment above: Graysfang returning to Surreal's apartment to find her gone. *Down here,* Surreal sent to him.

There was an answering bark, then he sailed through the balcony door and glided all the way down to the garden in one smooth motion.

*Show-off,* she said. 

His lips curled a little away from his teeth in protest.

*Never mind that,* Surreal said hastily; Wilhelmina was looking at Graysfang in alarm. *You could make yourself useful - get her to pet you. I think it'll cheer her up.*

Covering his teeth again, ears perked at the idea of being useful, Graysfang nudged Wilhelmina's knee with the side of his head. She unwrapped one arm and rubbed tentatively behind his ear. After a moment, she sighed deeply, and rubbed at her face with her other hand. The sobs seemed to be under control.

*Good work,* Surreal said.

Graysfang wagged his tail.

About to promise to loan Graysfang to Wilhelmina indefinitely, Surreal remembered the part about not wanting another Kindred ally to be killed as Dejaal had been. No, this required another solution.

Luckily, Wilhelmina seemed to have found her voice again.

"I don't really think anything like yesterday will happen again," she said, to Surreal's relief. "Not soon, anyway. The people _in_ the Hall are a lot scarier than the people _outside_ the Hall."

*That's true,* Graysfang sent to Surreal, with a clear implication that Surreal was one of the scary ones. Surreal glared at him.

"Things are so _different_ here," Wilhelmina said, a hint of a whine creeping into her voice. "They don't trust me and they don't like me - they just tolerate me. And I don't know what I'm meant to do! And the rules are so confusing. And have you noticed," she said, very fiercely now, "all the males will explain to you how you're supposed to treat the males - even if that's allowing them to _threaten_ you, as long as they don't _mean_ it, as if you can _tell_ \- but no one tells you the Protocol for dealing with _witches_!"

“Sister,” Surreal said dryly, “you’re a lot more optimistic than I am if you think the males here _have_ any manners when dealing with witches.”

Wilhelmina looked ready to cry again. “Then how am _I_ supposed to know?”

“You set your boundaries,” Surreal said. “Apparently.”

“But,” Wilhelmina said, and trailed off. 

“Go on,” Surreal said, almost against her will.

“I just…”

Surreal held her tongue.

“The people here have _Black_ Jewels,” Wilhelmina said. “And there are _eight_ Queens, I think, using the same workrooms! Territory Queens! And Saetan’s the _High Lord of Hell_ and there are demon-dead everywhere!”

“Don’t think you can hack it, do you?” Surreal said, beginning to lose her patience.

Wilhelmina’s head snapped up. “It’s not that,” she said, with magnificent indignation. “But do you think there’s anywhere else in Kaeleer that’s like it? I should feel lucky to have signed a service contract with my family. But I wish I’d lived somewhere else in Kaeleer first before I came here. I talked to Karla about Terreille and she says Kaeleer follows so much more of Protocol. But - I don’t think Protocol in the Hall is the same, do you? And - and - what if I finish my contract, and they don’t have any use for me, and I don’t know really how the people in Kaeleer do things...”

She looked beseechingly up at Surreal, as though expecting a serious answer. “I came in on the same service fair as you, remember,” Surreal said.

“Oh,” said Wilhelmina, deflating.

Graysfang gave Wilhelmina’s hand a lick. *She means well,* he told Surreal.

*I know that. You’re a soft touch,* she replied.

Graysfang licked her too.

Wilhelmina sniffed, took a very deep breath, rolled her shoulders back, and assumed the same position she’d been sitting in when Surreal had walked into the garden: closed off again. “I’m sorry,” she said, with stiff dignity. “It’s just yesterday was… well. And I know the people here _can_ protect me, but that’s not the same as knowing they want to.”

 _Well, shit_ , Surreal thought.

*Are you going to cheer her up too?* Graysfang said. *I tried. Your turn now.*

_Shit._

She was all out of comforting words. Not that her stock of them was ever very high.

Actions were better.

“You said the people in the Hall were a lot scarier than the people outside it, right?” she asked. “Why don’t you put that to the test?”

Wilhelmina stared at her. “Go outside the Hall? Would they _let_ me?” she asked.

Surreal pretended to herself she hadn’t been wondering the same thing. “You’re the one who’s locked yourself up in this garden, sugar,” she pointed out. “Not Saetan or Andulvar or Lucivar or anyone else. You signed a service contract, not a commitment to house arrest.”

“Where do you think I should go?” Wilhelmina asked.

"I haven't the faintest idea," Surreal said. "But I know who you can ask."

They found Saetan sitting behind his blackwood desk in a pose of alertness that suggested he'd been waiting for different visitors. His glance at Wilhelmina was wary. _Later_ , thought Surreal.

"Bit dramatic around here lately," Surreal said.

Saetan gave her a non-committal hum.

"Wilhelmina here," Surreal continued sweetly, "was considering a holiday. Somewhere in Kaeleer, naturally, since she's only just arrived in this realm. Do you have a recommendation?"

There was a pause. 

Saetan pushed his glasses up his nose with one dark nail. "Amdarh is Dhemlan’s capital city," he said mildly. "Many members of the household go there regularly for shopping and entertainment. My son Mephis is particularly fond of the theatre scene. Lady Surreal, you've lived in cities in Terreille for much of your life, haven't you? I'm sure you would enjoy the comparison."

Surreal frowned, began to shake her head.

Saetan raised his eyebrows. "You're not planning to go too? It will be difficult to arrange an escort for you," he continued to Wilhelmina. "Jaenelle is planning a journey to the border of Little Terreille in the following days; many of the household guard will accompany her."

At the word _escort_ , Wilhelmina flinched, and looked down at the floor. Saetan looked at Surreal over her head.

 _Not my problem,_ she thought.

"However..." Saetan said. "If you like the idea, perhaps Surreal and I can discuss alternative security arrangements."

Wilhelmina nodded nervously; the idea that Saetan _approved_ of her venturing further into the Twilight Realm seemed not to have yet sunk in. "Thank you," she said, and fled the study. Graysfang padded after her.

From the middle of one pile of paper, Saetan unearthed a playhouse brochure, and from the end of a bookshelf, a map. “A good idea,” he said. “Why are you reluctant to follow through with it?”

“I’m not a babysitter,” Surreal muttered. 

“Wilhelmina is twenty-seven,” Saetan pointed out. “I think she’d prefer the company of another witch, and I _do_ intend to ensure her security. I don’t intend to hold you responsible for her enjoyment of the trip, only her safety… but I think you know she’d be happier with you along than with one of the household males.

“Take Graysfang too,” he continued innocently. “I’m sure he could use some walkies.”

Surreal snorted.

“There is also the matter of travel expenses,” Saetan said. Pulling out a drawer, he made some arrangement of the contents and at last handed her a small embossed key. He wrote a brief note on letterhead, finishing it off with an elaborate signature. “Alavan on Windturn Street manages my financial interests in Amdarh. This letter and key will give you access to one of my supplementary accounts. Don’t overdraw it, but…” A shrug suggested that she might otherwise do her worst.

“This is a bribe,” Surreal said, almost hopefully.

“Would you rather consider it advance payment for contracted services?”

Surreal stiffened. 

“All right, a bribe,” Saetan agreed, with deceptive mildness.

Surreal took the key and letter. 

“There’s nothing dirty about taking payment for services,” she said pointedly, “but you _might_ want to have a little discussion with your son about what services he plans to pay me for.” She stepped away, planning to make that her parting line, and was almost surprised to hear herself say, “And that goes for Wilhelmina too.”


	2. Chapter 2

Surreal and Wilhelmina descended from the Green winds to a clear Jewel beacon just outside a city that welcomed them with a high, arched gate in reddish stone. 

A Red-Jewelled guard stood at the side of the gate, but merely nodded to the two women as they passed. Wilhelmina darted curious glances in every direction. In Surreal’s role of bodyguard, it felt natural to let the other woman draw - slightly - ahead. 

Graysfang walked behind _her_ in turn. Dogs - let alone wolves - seemed uncommon here; whenever he forgot himself and moved apart from her, or showed too obvious an interest in anything, she and he received mutters and sharp glances. *It's not you,* she had to tell him, frequently, as his tail began to droop.

Wilhelmina was scrupulously considerate with each window she wanted to stop and gaze into: “Would you wait a short moment,” and “Could we just pause here,” she asked deferentially each time. Surreal rolled her eyes behind her, and managed not to point out that she was not Wilhelmina’s mother. She was fairly sure that if she implied Wilhelmina was disparaging her age, Wilhelmina would descend into gibbering terror at the faux pas.

They might not be all that different in age, truly, for their respective races. Surreal was four hundred years old. From her Hayllian heritage, she knew she could expect many centuries more; from her Dea al Mon heritage, she had had no idea what to expect until recently, when she had discovered that she was not the only member of the secretive woodland race numbered among Jaenelle’s friends. Wilhelmina and Jaenelle, however, were of a short-lived race that rarely saw out a century. 

And for another strange thought - Wilhelmina now was older than Titian had been when she had died. 

It was futile to measure lives by the span of their years, Surreal concluded, and dragged her focus firmly back to the present.

After an hour of meandering through Amdarh, keeping to the wider and most frequented streets, Surreal deliberately dropped her pace. "Are you tired?" Wilhelmina asked her contritely. 

"No," Surreal said dryly, "but according to my estimate, you ought to be. Karla would kill me if I let you compromise the effects of her healing. I suggest we arrange a place to stay, and food, and funds."

"Funds?" Wilhelmina said. "I brought a purse."

Surreal shook her head. "Saetan made arrangements."

Wilhelmina studied her. "Did you ask him? Thank you..."

"No," Surreal said. "He offered."

"Oh," Wilhelmina said, digesting this. Surreal wasn't sure what conclusion she drew, but before Wilhelmina turned back to the street, Surreal saw the corners of her mouth turn up.

The inn was an easy find: a smell that somehow combined bread and fruit wafted up from a room half a step below street level, and when Surreal inquired after rooms, the host placed a fresh-baked prune-studded bun in front of each of them. Part of Surreal resented the tactic, but the food was good and the premises seemed clean, and it wasn't as if they had any better metric by which to determine the best lodging.

Surreal left Wilhelmina and Graysfang to watch over each other in the taproom and went to seek Alavan on Windturn Street.

The result of her interview left her a little staggered. She had personal wealth of her own - several hundred years of _very_ exclusive whoring and contract killing had left her with significant assets. (Even if a significant fraction of _those_ were in Terreille, where she had intended to return, and were effectively frozen for the period of her contract. Another thing to thank Lucivar for.) However, the account Saetan had made available for her came to perhaps half her entire net wealth. This, for two distant - and troublesome - family members who merely wished to take a little jaunt to the city.

Then again, if Saetan were anything near the age she'd heard rumoured, money must be almost meaningless to him.

Returning to the inn, she looked up to find herself in a street she hadn't previously taken. Cursing her lack of attention, she worked her way cautiously back in the southeast direction where she thought the inn lay. However, before she found a street she recognised, she found a theatre.

If Saetan had not spoken in such general terms of "the theatre scene", she might have imagined that this establishment were not _a_ theatre but _the_ theatre. It was a four-storey building in a city where the tallest structure Surreal had yet seen had about six; its façade was decorated in outrageous wrought-iron curlicues painted in gold and red; and its present and coming entertainments were advertised in what seemed to be cloth banners - but banners illustrated with images and text as fine as embroidery. 

Surreal had looked into the windows that captivated Wilhelmina with half her attention and interest; this was the first sight of Amdarh that truly impressed her. This subtle technology, she thought, must be the result of a Realm where strong Queens and Priestesses and Black Widows had _not_ been driven underground for hundreds of years; the result of a realm where a Blood male's career advancement did _not_ depend only on slavish service to the Queen of an area.

Tonight's main show described itself as 'the Tragicomedy of Lillit'. The prices of admission were appalling. Even so, a quick calculation told her she could buy every seat in the theatre for every day the play ran, and take barely a cup from the lake that was Saetan's accounts. She could buy the theatre company. She could buy the street. 

Probably. After all, she had no information on the prices of property in Amdarh.

Surreal took a deep breath and focused on the banner again; this time, the word "FULL" registered. In fact, as she scanned the theatre's offerings, _everything_ seemed to be sold to capacity. There was a matinee performance the following day for which seats were available, but "The Eyrien's Spear" looked as though it might be too violent for Wilhelmina (and inaccurate to boot, unless an Eyrien's atypical use of a spear was a plot point _or_ she was missing a bawdy joke). Surreal moved on to the last banner, on the corner of the building and the alley that ran beside it.

Dazed as she was, her instincts were sound; she registered a stranger's approach before he spoke. "You look devastated," the man said. His hair, elaborately pinned back, was a wheat-ish colour she'd mostly seen in the shorter-lived Terreillean races; his pale grey clothing had a silken shimmer, and judging by how well it fit him, probably _was_ silk. He smiled at her.

“You seem concerned with something that’s none of your business,” she retorted, her hand dropping to her side - although a man with such care for clothing seemed unlikely to start a fight in an alley.

“Oh, my concern is all for me,” he answered, with the kind of roguish smile that seemed to press for a laugh. “I have a problem… Two tickets purchased for my employer for tonight’s grand performance. Only it seems he forgot he ever asked for them.” The man gave a careless shrug. “You see the difficulty. I can hardly claim he was wrong.” 

“What a pity your employer doesn't trust you," Surreal said unsympathetically.

“But it could be so easily fixed. All I need do is find a lover of the arts - such as yourself - and your need to attend the Company’s celebrated new play can meet my need to sell my tickets with no loss of funds… or face.”

Surreal’s eyes narrowed. “When you say no loss of funds…”

“A modest mark-up,” the man said quickly. “Less than the waiting fee the establishment would charge those who snap up cancelled seats.” He named his price, which was outrageous; still thinking that she could buy the whole theatre company, Surreal gave a cynical snort. It seemed to work. Ten minutes later, she had tickets to “Lillit” as seen from a private box, and the man had vanished back into the alley from whence he’d come.

When she arrived back at the prune bun inn - Losselia’s, Surreal noted, spotting its signpost again - Wilhelmina greeted her with a smile, and Graysfang’s tail wagged from the floor, where he was chewing on a very large bone.

*No sign of danger?* she asked Graysfang.

*Nothing but good smells,* he replied, tail thumping.

Since Wilhelmina’s rest and chatter in the taproom had clearly done her good, and Surreal was slightly footsore, Surreal chose the next enterprise. After identifying the cluster of streets best known for tailors and seamstresses, Surreal took Wilhelmina - and herself - to be fitted for new clothing.

“Let’s go up to that one,” Wilhelmina said, pointing suddenly as they made their way down the seamstresses’ street. The premises in question overlooked a thoroughfare with windows of a glass Surreal had never seen before - much thinner than the glazings she’d known from Terreille.

"Why that one?"

"It looks good for people-watching,” Wilhelmina said. 

Surreal was never going to complain about a good vantage point.

A woman in a gorgeously embroidered jacket and divided skirt suggested an outfit of the same cut for Wilhelmina, though urging her towards a dark blue fabric to which violet accents would be added. The same seamstress seemed dismayed to see that Surreal wore a Gray Jewel; Surreal was used to receiving wary reactions for the unusual darkness of her Jewel, but never before because it thwarted an attempt to make her fashionable. Apparently, it was the current trend for the Blood to display their Jewel colours in their attire. Gray was an unflattering colour against Surreal's deep, golden Hayllian skin. 

"Never mind that," Surreal said, and pressed for a compromise on green. The seamstress studied her. 

"You do have lovely skin," the witch offered. "If you wanted to imply that you were between your Birthright Jewel and your Offering to the Darkness..."

Somewhere between Surreal's mouth and lungs, quantities of air and water travelled in unusual and unadvisable ways. She coughed frantically, waving the seamstress away and instead concentrating very hard on using Craft to aid her in returning her breathing to normal.

Meanwhile, a howl of laughter that Wilhelmina had clearly tried to suppress overcame her with such a decisive victory that she fell off the stool where a young male assistant was pinning fabric around her.

Both the seamstress and her assistant rushed to Wilhelmina's assistance. "Where are you hurt?" the assistant asked. 

"Nowhere," said Wilhelmina, regaining her breath as Surreal regained hers.

"But the pins..."

She allowed them to turn her this way and that, and finally agree that - thank the Darkness - not one of the forty pins the assistant had used so far had pressed into her flesh.

Somewhat more needled herself, Surreal took advantage of the seamstress's distraction to change the topic from Jewel-coordinated dresses to a wider set of choices; once the seamstress realised that Surreal had recently come from Terreille, she was genuinely curious about the styles preferred there. 

The discussion ran long. Occasionally Surreal glanced towards the window, but Wilhelmina, settled on her stool at the front of the shop where the light was best, showed no signs of fidgeting. When not posed this way and that by her attendant, she stared intently down into the square. 

Surreal noticed that the pile of fabric and finished pieces besides Wilhelmina was growing higher and higher - while she herself had only chosen a bolero jacket and pants. Suggesting the seamstress choose fabrics for two dress designs they'd agreed on, she crossed the room to stand by her charge. "Enjoying yourself?" she asked.

Wilhelmina glanced at her pile of choices. "Time to stop, do you think?" she asked meekly.

"The sun's getting low," Surreal said. "Graysfang's warm spot on the roof might be losing its appeal."

After a quick conversation with the assistant, who reluctantly unwrapped her from the last fabric sample, Wilhelmina went down to the square, and Surreal roused Graysfang to join her.

*Can't you talk to her yet?* she asked.

*Very closed mind,* Graysfang replied sleepily. *High barriers.*

*Wag your tail more,* Surreal said.

He sent her a doggy laugh, and it was Surreal's turn to sit on the seamstress's stool and watch the shoppers and merchants below, as they swirled around Wilhelmina and the wolf.

* * *

Their rooms at Losselia's had very low ceilings. Well, there had to be a catch _somewhere_. Dressing for the play, Surreal had to bend slightly to get a proper look in a mirror that only came up to her chest. 

There was a knock at the door; a quick psychic probe told Surreal that it was Wilhelmina. "Come in," Surreal said. She studied her charge, who was wearing a high-necked lavender-gray dress - more 'dusk' than 'purple dusk' - overlaid with a long coat in silvery lace. "Did we buy that today?" Surreal said, teasing gently. "I don't remember."

Wilhelmina smiled. "Jaenelle told me that the first time she came to Amdarh, she bought so many books they had to carry them back in two coaches," she informed Surreal. "And she also said Saetan likes witches to wear formal clothing every now and then. She said he finds it soothing."

Soothing. Really. "If you have any more tips like that," Surreal said, aware she sounded cranky, "would you mind sharing them?"

"But of course," Wilhelmina said. She came further into the room. "Did you think I was just spending money because I could?"

"The thought had crossed my mind," Surreal said.

Wilhelmina gave her a suddenly more serious look. "When people don't tell you the rules," she said - and it wasn't Jaenelle's midnight voice, but there _was_ night in it - "sometimes you only find out what they are by breaking them."

Surreal was still digesting this when Wilhelmina sighed and changed the subject. "You look lovely," she said, eyeing Surreal's black and gold. "You didn't choose green after all? I mean, wasn't it sort of a compliment?"

Surreal grunted. "I have _no_ desire to look baby-faced," she said. "Sugar, I was a whore. A very, very good whore. My _credentials_ are my life experience. Playing them down... well, I'd say it's the opposite of flattering."

"Oh," Wilhelmina nodded, apparently accepting this.

When no further reaction was forthcoming, Surreal led the way out to the theatre.

Just as Wilhelmina had acted like a child who had been allowed out on a treat when she and Surreal had stepped through the city gates, Surreal realised she'd planned this evening as if she were playing the escort. She would have picked a discreet restaurant near the theatre, plied her companion with a calculated quantity of wine, prepared to make witty comments as required throughout the performance...

"Let's eat as we go," she said, as another smell wafted over from the next lane over.

Surreal paid a street vendor for a kind of hot sandwich; Wilhelmina chose vegetables and meat skewered on sticks. "This tastes like _flowers_ ," she said, indignantly, of the meat.

*I will eat them,* said Graysfang, in the tone of one offering a great sacrifice. *I have already licked flowery hair.*

Surreal translated, and then explained about the connection between flowers and showers.

They arrived in good time - "too early to be fashionable," Surreal observed - but the private box was as sumptuous as promised. A very faint shimmer between the front of the box and the theatre proper showed that a one-way sound and sight shield had been set up for the patrons' privacy; reversible, of course, should patrons of high rank wish to show off their presence. There was a well-stocked bar and buffet, which Wilhelmina raided to get the taste of flowery fowl out of her mouth. "And some for Graysfang," she said, pocketing a sausage. "He ought to share both parts of my meal, don't you think?"

Surreal made a neutral noise and wondered how long she would have to act as go-between for wolf and witch.

She poured herself a drink and settled in as musicians assembled for the opening performance. 

Despite genuine attention to a woodwind harmony, she heard the creak of an opening door behind her. Staying physically relaxed, she sent a probe behind her. The intruders were two Warlords, one bearing a lighter and the other a darker Opal Jewel. They stepped all the way into the box and closed the door behind them - without care for silence now, making Wilhelmina jump - and before she could challenge them, one spoke.

"You're in our box."

"I doubt that," Surreal said coldly. She got up slowly, turning around, sending power to the dim witchlight ball that illuminated the box, checking her shields. Wilhelmina, still seated, gave her a frantic look; Surreal nodded curtly at her. *Stay down,* she sent on a distaff thread. *I'll handle this.*

"Don't care about your _doubts_ ," the same man sneered, moving forward. "This is Lord Garben's box, and he doesn't rent it out."

"The servitors at the door would disagree with you," Surreal said, flashing her tickets. "You opened the wrong door. Get out."

The second man said, "Screw that. Nothing for it, hey," and sent a blast of lighter Opal power at her chest.

Wilhelmina gasped - usefully, because it drew the men's attention to her, and away from an unaffected Surreal. 

"That wasn't very polite," Surreal said, stepping around her chair. "I'll give you one more warning, and then I'll teach you some manners."

The darker-Jewelled Warlord threw a punch at her; in the same moment, the lighter-Jewelled Warlord reached a large hand out to grab Wilhelmina's hair. Each hand hit an invisible Gray barrier in the air. Surreal drew her shield tighter around them both until their limbs were pinned.

"Smack _that_ around," she suggested, smiling at the way they squirmed. 

Considering them, she added a further touch, suspending the men three feet in the air. "Now you can look over our shoulders," she said sweetly. "I wouldn't want you to miss the performance." And she had no intention of missing it either, even to drag these louts off to the city Guard.

Wilhelmina gave her a look of terror; Surreal's look in return had an edge to it. At last, Wilhelmina turned and faced forward in her seat, shoulders tense, hands clasped, straining visibly towards the stage. _Good_ , Surreal thought, with something like a purr. She knew that her proximity to the killing edge was scaring Wilhelmina - but at that moment, she couldn't _quite_ care.

"It's a pity we missed the musical introduction," she purred. "This will have to set the mood instead."

The eponymous Lillit was a young and gifted witch in a Territory with no Queens. One day, when Lillit was playing in the village square with other children, a passing Black Widow was so impressed by her forceful attitude that she took the girl under her wing, to train her up in the deception that Lillit _was_ a Queen. Through adolescence and early adulthood, Lillit was so imperious and bossy that all were convinced of her caste - even Admah, a Warlord who, having grown up with her, had known her even before the Black Widow shaped her image.

Lillit's actress was lovely. Transitioning smoothly from her early scenes as a tantrum-throwing child to an adolescent learning how to order around the highest nobles of her city, she was in turn brave, cunning, and ridiculous. Lillit's parents were warm and funny - playing the larger roles of concerned people of the realm, and parents who loved their daughter. Awed, they accepted in whole the revelation that their child was destined to be a saviour and leader. If Surreal rolled her eyes at their ecstasy at this "second birth" - questionable in parents whose child had been chosen as a target - it was a little reflexive; the sentiment came through. And where Surreal had expected a plot device in the role of the Black Widow, it became clear that Lillit's mentor was losing control of events. The last scene of the first act closed with a moving speech from the Black Widow about her hopes for the realm, her decision to step back from Lillit's nascent court, and her stark acknowledgement of the ways the plans she had set in motion yet might fall.

There was a brief pause between acts; the musicians took up their instruments. Wilhelmina, her cheeks flushed and pupils wide with adrenalin, manoeuvred her way to the door around the trespassers. Surreal thoughtfully moved the lighter-Jewelled Warlord's legs out of the way so she could reach the handle. 

The lighter-Jewelled Warlord glared at her; slowly, as though he moved his arm through syrup, he raised his arm to make an obscene gesture. Surreal smiled and strengthened the force of the shields, increasing the downwards pressure on his limbs as if she were holding him under a waterfall. With immense pleasure, she watched his arm slowly drop.

The door cracked open and Wilhelmina eased back through. She smiled nervously at Surreal through the Warlords, and edged around to take her seat.

Surreal poured her a drink. "The next act should be starting any moment," she remarked, tightening the restrictions on the Warlords behind her.

In the next act, Admah was sent away to another Territory on a diplomatic mission. There, he was bedazzled by Yvette, a young Queen who was undergoing Court training. Under the impression that he was already bonded to Lillit, he had no defenses against the foreign Queen’s effect on his desire to serve. He invited the foreign Queen back to Lillit’s territory. 

Wilhelmina frequently glanced over her shoulder. Surreal reached over and pressed Wilhelmina’s right hand with her left. “Relax,” she advised. “They’re not going anywhere.”

"I feel so much better now," Wilhelmina snapped back.

"Good," said Surreal, and meant it.

At first, Lillit and her court saw Yvette's visit as a diplomatic success. Lillit treated Yvette well and encouraged her to speak of her training. But the other Queen quickly saw past the pretence that had fooled the males. Pretending friendship to Lillit, she was privately shocked at Lillit's subversion of her own caste.

The darker-Jewelled male behind Surreal was struggling against his trap. Let him. Wilhelmina was clearly not so content; she half-turned in her seat. 

A probe told Surreal that there was a subtle change within the cage Surreal had made, but it had the flavour of the Sapphire, not the Opal. 

The man had stilled again; Surreal realised that Wilhelmina had added to the architecture of the her cage. Not with further restraint - but with a block of solid air underneath each man to act as a seat, giving the their trapped attackers some relief. 

So she was playing 'honorable guard' to Surreal's 'sadist guard'. Surreal snorted. It would do.

On stage, under the guise of passing on her own knowledge about how a Queen should act, Yvette put Lillit through a series of tests. Some of them, Lillit solved with ingenuity, but the second act of the play concluded with a speech from Yvette in which she privately declared she found Lillit wanting; having giving the "imposter" Queen a chance of sorts, Yvette's conscience was now clear in seeking to oppose Lillit's rule.

"Are you enjoying the play, Wilhelmina?" Surreal murmured.

"Ah... yes," Wilhelmina said.

"How do you think it would have been received in Terreille?" Surreal continued.

Wilhelmina visibly centred herself to consider the question. "It's hard to say," she said. "In Chaillot, everyone said that it was unnatural for Hayll to be dominated by a Priestess rather than a Queen. So a character like Lillit would have to be... mocked, I think. And she'd probably be killed off in the next act."

"I agree," Surreal said. "In Hayll, Yvette would save the Territory from Lillit. But Lillit's chief crime would be her _deception_ , not in daring to lead."

Wilhelmina nodded. "In Chaillot, though, it would be a terrible slight to put on a play about a foreign Queen taking over in a Territory without Queens," she said. "Perhaps Admah would banish Lillit, and then a baby Queen would be found, and a male council would rule as regents until she came of age."

"Wouldn't a male council be worse?" 

"Alexandra didn't seem to think so," Wilhelmina retorted.

In the third act, Yvette invited Admah back to her Territory to eventually serve as her Consort when she attained a court. Persuading Admah that what he felt for her was love, and what he felt for Lillit was "mere" loyalty, she artfully let slip the fact that Lillit was not a Queen at all - and therefore had not earned that loyalty.

Heartbroken and conflicted, Admah told Lillit what he had learned. Then Lillit overplayed her hand. Furious and overconfident in her abilities, she excoriated Admah for his disloyalty, and challenged Yvette to the same tests that Yvette had put Lillit through. However - playing a game she had been well trained in - Yvette performed dazzlingly, impressing many of the high-ranking members of Lillit's court. Lillit was left dismayed and shaken. She made a pilgrimage to seek the home of her old mentor, who wove a tangled web of murder and destruction - but yet showed Lillit that she had something to offer to her homeland.

Admah sought comfort in Yvette's arms, and now Yvette revealed to him her final plan. She meant to oust Lillit and take Lillit's court for her own. In Lillit's absence, Yvette swayed many of the court over her side - and Admah was not the only male who felt a connection to her as his Queen. 

Admah's rage and betrayal - and burgeoning jealousy - caused him to act beyond this plan. When Lillit returned, Admah waited on the road to attack her.

Choosing not to defend herself with so much as a simple shield, Lillit accepted death - and chose undeath. She used all the strength of her Jewels to become one of the demon-dead.

Horrified at his deed - realising that what he had felt for Lillit was truly love, and what he felt for Yvette was caused by the abuse of a Queen's glamour - Admah stopped on the road to consider taking his own life. But Lillit, overtaking him, heard this speech. She asked the audience if she should allow him to die. The audience answered only with deadly silence, but Lillit relented, for the sake of her court if not for her former companion, and revealed herself to him.

Finally, in front of the whole court, Lillit ceded the Territory to Yvette. For herself, she planned to roam its edges, leading such warriors as wished to serve her, keeping the Territory safe - and keeping its Court honest. The gift was given with a sting: Yvette was a true Queen, but her struggle to prove herself would be as hard as Lillit's had been, for all knew the truth of what she and Admah had planned and done.

In the final scene, Lillit wrung a promise from Admah: should his loyalty to Yvette ever waver, or hers to him, Admah must then follow Lillit into her half-life, carrying out his delayed judgment on himself and serving her forever.

"Well," said Wilhelmina at last. "Were you expecting that ending? I wasn't."

Surreal turned to answer her, released from the spell of the play, and froze.

Between them and the space where their two assailants had dangled, a thin sight-and-vision shield shimmered: it was exactly alike to the shield that fronted their private box. It was only Summer-sky strength; Surreal broke it with a quick pulse, but the damage was done. The two men were gone.

"How..." said Wilhelmina, following her gaze.

Surreal snorted. "Whoever rescued them would have to have taken the shields _with_ them," she said. "I wish them joy of floating their friends along." Or the latter intruder also wore the Gray - but that was unlikely, and she did not wish to frighten Wilhelmina with the suggestion. Of course, the shields - and Wilhelmina's seats - would wear off with time and distance, but if their former captives were far enough from the witches for the spells to wear off, they would also be far too far away to cause them trouble.

"Should we... report them?" Wilhelmina said. 

It wasn't the way Surreal was used to thinking; in many Terreillean cities, she preferred to avoid the notice of authorities. But here, she was no longer a whore and not yet an assassin, and as Wilhelmina said it, she found herself curious to see how the city's authorities would deal with their complaint. 

The theatre staff wanted nothing to do with it. An anxious-looking witch sympathised with them volubly, but urged them to take the matter directly to the Guard. She wore only a Tiger Eye Jewel; perhaps Surreal's description of the ranks involved in the clash frightened her. 

The Guard station that she directed Surreal and Wilhelmina to was at least well-staffed, despite the late hour, and the office in which the women were interviewed smelled of freshly-brewed coffee. The Prince and witch who took their statements wore alert but neutral expressions; Surreal had hoped to learn from their reactions whether such thuggish incidents were common, but they gave nothing away.

Finally, the Prince said, "There is the matter of your illegally-acquired tickets."

Wilhelmina looked startled; Surreal said, " _What?_ "

"Private re-sale of tickets to sought-after performances such as this one is illegal under city law," he said patiently. "You have freely confessed to buying these tickets from a stranger in the street."

Red-faced and speechless, Surreal stared at him.

"There is a fine," he continued helpfully, and named it. Compounding Surreal's embarrassment, it was Wilhelmina who reacted first, drawing out her purse and paying the steep amount. The witch solemnly signed for it and gave Wilhelmina a receipt.

"If you find the men who attacked us in the box," Wilhelmina asked, "what will you do with them?"

The Prince's eyes were narrowed. "That depends," he said. "It's possible their assault on you is not the only crime for which they have earned punishment."

With those cryptic words, their interview seemed to be over.

Surreal was in no mood for conversation as they walked back to Losselia's inn. Graysfang sensed her mood and chose to put Wilhelmina between himself and her; Wilhelmina, who seemed to enjoy silence by default, did not seem to notice Surreal's fuming.

They entered the inn; only a few patrons remained, and Losselia was clearly beginning the evening's sweep-up. "Did you enjoy 'Lillit'?" she asked.

"Oh, very much," said Wilhelmina; Surreal left them to it, and placed a Gray lock around her room. At least in Amdarh, there was no Kaelas to help Graysfang through her shields.

"So," Wilhelmina said brightly at breakfast the next morning. "Yesterday we went shopping, saw a play, and got ourselves criminal records. What shall we do today?"

Surreal had not yet had coffee. "Is _this_ the witch who cried on my shoulder yesterday about scary SaDiablos and Queens?" she growled.

Wilhelmina's eyes went wide. Studying Surreal, she pushed the coffee pot across the table to her.

"Thank you," Surreal grumped. She took a sip. Weaker than she'd like. It tasted oddly spicy. But it was undeniably coffee.

"I picked yesterday," she said more magnanimously. "You choose today."

And then she drank the rest of the coffee, because Mother Night knew she'd need it for a day anything like yesterday.


	3. Chapter 3

Wilhelmina's choice of diversion took them out of the city by way of the main southern gate. To get to the southern gate, they took an eddying route that was determined by whatever caught Wilhelmina's eye. *She lays a trail like a hare,* Graysfang commented; Surreal was not sure if this likening to prey was a compliment. But it was a benefit. If anyone had thought to follow them - a possibility Surreal could not ignore after last night's aggression - Wilhelmina's doublings-back and zigzags would have made it very hard for a pursuer to go unnoticed.

Out of the gate, the paved road took them through trade-yards for cattle, lumber, and other goods, then divided into cart-roads, welted with wheel-ruts. Wilhelmina chose one that led south-east. "It's this track all the way to the farm," she assured Surreal. 

Graysfang gave a happy "ruff," and trotted out ahead of them.

"Did Losselia give you a map?" Surreal asked. None was in evidence. 

"No," said Wilhelmina. "Her directions were clear enough."

So was the vista - the land was flat for some way, and a mile or two on, began to curve only gently as the farmland clumped gradually up into hills. Surreal was grateful for her sturdy boots. Lucivar had been quick to outfit all the service fair newcomers with footwear for combat, and she'd had her pair just long enough to wear them in. The women found a comfortable pace, lifting their heads up from a study of the road as they settled into the rhythm of avoiding the deepest indentations.

The distant hills were sharp, without haze, but the sky was as dull as if it were a reflection of itself on a metal blade, and the light was less yellow than leaden. 

If Surreal went back to Terreille at the end of her contract, would the colours hurt her eyes, after this subtlety?

The Twilight Realm: ever closer to night than day, and close to the Darkness that was the heart of the Blood's power. Bearing out the truth of the metaphor, it was only the sun that seemed farther away: the stars in the Kaeleer night sky blazed as bright as she'd ever seen them in the realm of Light.

What did the stars look like in Hell?

She could ask Titian that.

_Mother Night_... she thought idly. Four hundred years of calling upon that ancient name as a curse, or an expression of awe - and all that time, her own mother, in the Dark Realm, might have answered.

How had she never imagined that? The Realm of Light was inimical to the demon-dead - few walked abroad in that Realm even after sunset - but Daemon and Tersa had taught her about the half-lives the Blood were capable of. She had learned to finish her kills lest her enemies trouble her again, either before or after she died.

She smiled, now, to imagine that those targets she had _not_ given the final death to had been met in Hell by the Harpy Queen.

The idea of demon-dead in Terreille _felt_ wrong, in ways Surreal could not describe to herself. It was not their place. Kaeleer and Terreille were separated by more than Gates, more than physical barriers. 

Was Kaeleer the true home of the Blood, whose power was drawn from the Darkness, and Terreille the rightful home of the landen, who feared the shadows? Were the Blood meant to know their dead who dwelt in Hell?

Surreal shook her head, annoyed to find her thoughts as somber as the scene. _Better to ask questions that might have answers,_ she told herself.

Wilhelmina shot her a slight, curious look.

"I was thinking of the demon-dead," Surreal said casually.

"Oh." Wilhelmina nodded. "The end of 'Lillit', last night... That was quite grand, wasn't it? I mean - when Lillit gave her speech, and then the spotlight in the centre dimmed, and all the dark parts of the stage started glittering - for Lillit's army's eyes. So ominous..."

"I think it was meant to be a promise," Surreal said. "The demon-dead were to keep the land safe for generations after the living."

"Yes," said Wilhelmina. "But a threat _to_ the living."

"Not exactly," Surreal said, and paused.

Wilhelmina said, with a slight edge, "Need something be _exactly_ a threat to be treated as a threat?"

"No," said Surreal, and yet something irked her about Wilhelmina’s angle. All of the Blood were dangerous, not just the most visibly deadly Black Widows and Warlord Princes; all had within them the potential to step up to the killing edge. Wilhelmina's words suggested, to Surreal, someone who had not accepted this reality.

They walked on silently for a moment, Wilhelmina stepping ahead of Surreal, her face turned away. After a while, Wilhelmina said carefully, "Yet, thinking of the play... I think we are meant to be on Lillit's side at the end, aren't we? And the purpose of her army was to protect the Territory from outsiders. But it was also meant to protect the people of the Territory from abuses by the Queen's court."

"Yes."

"I think that idea sounds fair," said Wilhelmina, "because we know Lillit is a good leader and we know Admah and Yvette are not entirely good. It is fair to watch that court for wrongs because they have already wronged her. But... I think if we did not trust Lillit, the idea of a demon-dead army keeping watch on the living might be... scary."

Surreal blinked. She had not thought of it that way. "There's always someone out there bigger and scarier than you, sugar," she said. Blood society, as she saw it, worked on the principle that there was always someone... somewhere... watching the watcher, ready to call the powerful to account. 

Even if it happened to be thousands of years before the reckoning were made.

"You wear the Gray," Wilhelmina said, pausing to look more directly at Surreal. "Isn't the bigger, scarier person usually _you_?"

"Usually," Surreal agreed. "But I don't get cocky."

Wilhelmina ducked her head; Surreal suspected that it was to hide a disbelieving snort, or at least a smile.

"You wear the Sapphire," Surreal said, pointing out the obvious. "Don't tell me you aren't used to being the darkest Jewel in a room."

"I suppose," Wilhelmina said. "It's odd. You see, for a very long time I wore a Sapphire Jewel given to me by Jaenelle, before I truly descended beyond Purple Dusk. I was afraid that I would be found out. I'm used to being _thought_ the darkest Jewel in a room, even when it wasn't true."

"And yet you convinced them," Surreal said, impressed by this, despite the uncertainty in Wilhelmina's tone. 

"For a long time," Wilhelmina said, "yes. I think... at the end... I think Robert suspected. He only wore the Yellow, so he couldn't have known. But it's not so strange that he guessed. He could never have thought of me as strong."

To Surreal’s mind, it was clear who'd had the last laugh there.

A wagon passed them on the road; a high load covered over with cloth, pulled by two horses, driven by two men. Surreal felt their eyes on her as they passed, although their looks were covert. She probed to feel their Jewel strength, but either it was muted to a high degree, or they were landen.

"Those two Warlords, last night," Wilhelmina said, when the wagon was a dot rounding a curve. "Do you know why they attacked us?"

"I'm not sure," Surreal said.

Wilhelmina asked, “Do you think there was some sort of scheme? With the Warlords and the man who sold you the ticket?”

“It’s possible,” said Surreal. “But the Warlords acted surprised to see us. I don’t see where the profit comes in, either. Were they going to chase us off and then watch the play themselves?”

“I suppose not,” said Wilhelmina, after a pause that suggested she had seriously considered this. “But, ah, what if the man in the alley sold two sets of tickets, or three?”

“And the ruffians were supposed to boot out whoever showed up first? Because,” Surreal continued grumpily, “most people who bought tickets that way would have known their tickets were illegal?”

“Yes.”

“No,” Surreal said, and not just because her pride was hurt. “The more people running a dodge like that, the simpler it better be. If they’d asked for a bribe, or tried to mug us, maybe. But just muscling us out makes no sense."

"Do you think the Warlords were after _us_?"

"Unlikely," Surreal said shortly.

"Why do you say that?"

"Why do you think they were after us?" Surreal countered.

"Saetan wanted me to have an escort for a reason," Wilhelmina pointed out. 

Surreal shrugged. "So there are those in Kaeleer who are no friends to Saetan's court. Big deal." Wilhelmina looked uncertain whether to be appalled or reassured by Surreal's dual confidence in herself and their enemies. "But I doubt the men who barged in last night were on any such mission. Their Jewels were no match for ours, and they didn't try stealth. They wanted the box, not us."

"Lord Garben's box," Wilhelmina said thoughtfully. "I wonder what's so special about Lord Garben's box?"

"A good question," Surreal said. And one that would have to wait until they were back in the city.

It had been a while since Graysfang had taken off. *Graysfang?* she called, on a Purple Dusk thread. 

She felt a faint answering vibration in Wilhelmina, beside her, then a response from Graysfang, surprisingly close. *I am watching the flock,* he said.

*The flock?*

*You will see them soon,* Graysfang said. *There are dogs and men, but the dogs are busy.*

*Busy?* 

*I could make them busier,* Graysfang offered, not quite innocently.

*Wait,* Surreal sent repressively.

"Graysfang says there's some kind of activity ahead of us on the road," she informed Wilhelmina. Wilhelmina nodded and shaded her eyes to look ahead, but there was nothing to see. The road had started to lift and loop; as it lifted, the stone-walled verge on either side was rising, turning into banks. Here, the road cut into the hills.

Before they came into sight of dogs, men, and herd, the breeze carried a sour scent and the sounds of talking and barking. Rounding the corner at last, Surreal and Wilhelmina found themselves faced with a river of sheep, streaming up a sloped part of the bank and through an open gate into a field. The flock stretched as far along the road as Surreal could see. A farmer stood between them and the sheep with a dog at his side, all his attention on the animals. 

*Well,* Surreal said to Graysfang, *I guess we wait too.* She shrugged and went to lean against the side of the bank, pleased enough to adjust the way weight fell on her feet.

The sense she got from Graysfang was unhappy, but resigned.

"Where _is_ Graysfang?" Wilhelmina asked, coming to lean next to Surreal. The farmer noticed them and gave them a curt nod, then looked back to the sheep.

The wolf answered that question for himself; Surreal's eye was caught by movement at the top of the wall on the opposite bank, a little way down the road, overlooking the sheep. A grey head appeared at the top of the stone wall. *Don't-* Surreal sent, but too late - he leapt from the bank and sailed on a smooth, shallow angle over sheep, man, and dog. 

Only a few of the sheep noticed, but the dog leapt up in a frenzy, recognising a threat to her charges. Graysfang altered his course in the air to avoid her; she fell back to the ground, shook herself, and darted down the road to catch up with him, before a sharp word from the farmer called her back to the flock. She whined, and the stream of sheep eddied as the sheep who had been spooked jostled the others and the flock as a whole caught the dog's confusion. *Keep going,* Surreal ordered Graysfang as he landed on the road beside her. *Get further out of range.* 

Grumpy, he obeyed. *Land-dogs are not as easy to manage as land-humans.*

"Thanks to you, I'm not sure this landen will be particularly helpful either," Surreal shot back, backing away down the road from the indignant farmer.

"How far did the flock stretch down the road?" she asked, catching up to him when they were several wagon lengths away from the stock movement.

He sent her a mental picture of several hundreds of such lengths. "Hm."

"How far?" Wilhelmina asked. Surreal clarified. Wilhelmina frowned. "The track to the farm we want is probably somewhere in the middle."

Leaning against the bank had caused Surreal's feet to inform her that they were tired - and there was nowhere to sit down except the dusty, mud-crusted road. "I don't suppose you'd care to give us a lesson in air-walking now," she grumped at Graysfang. "Or we'll have to wait until all the sheep are through."

"Or," Wilhelmina said quietly, "we could ride the Winds."

Surreal blinked.

They had ridden the Winds from Saetan's Hall to Amdarh, but that route was a wide, easy band that went as light as the Tiger-eye, and was marked at either end by a clear-Jewelled beacon. So it was with most of the major Wind routes travelled by the Blood, although it was also common to travel the Winds between two places that one knew well.

Surreal travelled by the Winds more often than many Blood might, because she wore the Gray, and the darker the Jewels one wore, the greater the spread of the paths that one might access. But even she did not ride the Winds to find a tiny destination she had never yet visited. The Winds were capricious; they did not lend themselves to precision.

"I can take us there," Wilhelmina said, a little impatiently.

Because Losselia had imparted the path to her mind? Surreal narrowed her eyes. How was it that Wilhelmina would accept a stranger's mental touch, but not the mental touch of the wolf who had fought to protect her from Osvald?

"Don't glare," Wilhelmina said. "I know the Winds. In Terreille, I drove the Coaches."

"...Oh."

Wilhelmina waited for further reaction. When Surreal failed to close her gaping mouth, Wilhelmina shrugged in irritation, pointed, walked ten steps down the road - and vanished. Surreal looked along the direction Wilhelmina had pointed to see her waving in the distance. Then she vanished again, and reappeared at Graysfang’s side.

"See?"

"Oh," said Surreal, in a more positive tone.

Wilhelmina flicked her hand to beckon her over, then grasped Surreal's hand; at the same time, her foot swung forward to nudge Graysfang's side gently, and as she shifted her weight, they were wrapped in the Darkness, flying along a path so faint that it was only when that they emerged on a hillside that Surreal recognised the fading vibrations of the Summer-sky.

Surreal could see nothing but countryside. She took a step, wondering if she might see a farm over the top of the hill, but Wilhelmina's hand stopped her again. "Wait," Wilhelmina said curtly, and Graysfang growled with the same reproach. "I need to find the tether line."

Only a moment later, they slid sideways on another wind’s whisper, and Surreal let out the breath she had drawn on the hillside. They stood on a wide gravel path in front of a large house, whose signboard proclaimed it to be the Fairview Farm.

* * *

Surreal eyed the farmhouse curiously. Wilhelmina had not offered much information about where they were going. 

A loud bark from within suggested a farm dog had caught the visitors' scent. Almost immediately, the main door of the farmhouse opened, and a woman stepped out, a dog straining ahead of her on a leash.

She looked extremely surprised to see them.

"Hello," Wilhelmina said brightly. "Losselia in Amdarh mentioned you. Excursions and activities. And that marvellous plum preserve we had on our scones this morning." She smiled hopefully.

The woman's dog whined, attention focused on Graysfang. *See if you can manage this land-dog a bit better than the last one,* Surreal warned him.

Sending her back mixed willingness and chagrin, the wolf trotted over to the dog - her owner looked alarmed to see he was not restrained - and then let her sniff him, his tail wagging slightly in a clear sign of good humour.

"Don't worry," Surreal told their apparent host, somewhat against her will. "He's very well behaved." 

The woman looked dubious. "Well, all right, if you keep him with you. Except if you want to feed the animals - we'll need to put him in the yard then." 

"Yes, I would like to feed the animals," Wilhelmina said firmly.

The woman looked at her, blinked, and seemed to consider the situation again. "Wait a moment," she said. "You don't have a booking, do you? I could have sworn we had no bookings today." She added, in growing puzzlement, "I didn't even hear you at the gate."

"Ah," Wilhelmina said. "My apologies. We came... directly."

There was a beat of continued confusion, and then their landen host, realising that she spoke to sisters of the Blood, said, " _Oh_. I am _so_ sorry, my lady - my ladies. We aren't ready for visitors - but if you will just make yourselves comfortable, I will do my best to provide occupation..." 

The tone was nervous and formal now, and Surreal was tempted to laugh, except it wasn't really all that funny, and she feared that what she really wanted right now - a comfortable chair and a tall glass of water - would get lost in favour of something far more elaborate.

But the woman was leading them inside, which was a good start. She affixed her own dog's leash to a post outside the door.

"I'm Amrita, my ladies," she said over her shoulder.

“I’m Wilhelmina,” Wilhelmina responded brightly, "and this is Surreal. And Graysfang."

Surreal wondered if this would clue Amrita in that Graysfang was more than he seemed - which might add unnecessary complications - or if she would merely take the introduction of the wolf as a Blood oddity. Probably the latter; few even of the Blood were aware of the range of Kindred populations.

However, Amrita appeared distracted. Leading them through a narrow hallway, she opened a door, then winced and closed it before Surreal could see what was inside. At the next door, she hesitated, then moved on. Finally, she opened a door at the very end of the hallway, and she and her guests surveyed it dubiously.

The room was small, and rather dusty. It had a rocking chair in it, and no other seating - unless one counted a small stool placed in front of a piano. There was also a shelf of unloved-looking books, a spinning wheel, a pile of blankets, and a stuffed peacock that Graysfang sniffed, and sneezed at.

"Um," Amrita said, looking close to panic. Surreal wondered what the other rooms had looked like, if this was their hostess's first choice for a place to store awkward guests.

Wilhelmina said loudly, "Oh, a piano! Lovely! I haven't played in years," and moved forward into the room. Surreal saw that as she moved in front of their hostess, she made a gesture to collect the dust off the piano with Craft, and deposit it in a small unobtrusive pile off to the side, on the floor.

Amrita said, "I'll only be a moment making things ready for you..."

"We'll be fine," Wilhelmina assured her. 

"With some water," Surreal put in quickly. "I could use a glass, thanks."

"Ah, yes," Amrita said, and backed away down the hallway. Surreal brushed the dust away from the rocking chair with the same technique that Wilhelmina had used on the piano. She looked at the window, wondering if it opened. Maybe they could get rid of the dust all at once. Graysfang sniffed the bird's tail, and sneezed again.

*Did you expect that to go differently a second time?* Surreal asked him.

*It has new smells,* he answered wistfully.

*Wait a moment, then,* she told him, eyeing it. The dust would be tricky to work out from between the feathers. She wasn't sure why she was even considering cleaning the thing off, except that Graysfang seemed to be displaying more patience than she was, and was possibly due a reward.

Amrita returned with a tray, holding two glasses of water and a jug. These were clean, to Surreal's relief. "I'll only be a moment," she repeated. Wilhelmina smiled at her, and settled herself at the piano. Surreal sighed, drank the water, and bent her attention to the dusty peacock.

Wilhelmina played first one chord, then another. Then she began to play a tune.

Surreal winced. 

Wilhelmina was _terrible_.

The piano wasn't in tune, but it hardly mattered. Even when Wilhelmina's playing produced something recognisable as a melody, she banged out the notes with harsh, joyless force that took everything pleasant out of them. She got partly through a tune, lost her place, went back a few bars, and started again. And again. 

Graysfang and Surreal looked at each other.

*Sugar, I think you're rustier than you realise,* Surreal tried, on a Sapphire distaff thread. Words would have been drowned out.

Wilhelmina paused; Surreal let out a breath of relief.

Down the hallway, they heard Amrita's bustle: the sound of vigorous sweeping, then things being moved around. Then, that noise stopped.

Wilhelmina shrugged nervously. "I don't want her to worry about us..." She started playing again.

Surreal ground her teeth, considering a selection of acid remarks. Graysfang was now hiding behind the peacock, his ears flat.

For the moment, she took out her irritation on the dust, collecting it in a heap and then passing it through the wall. But Wilhelmina was still playing.

* _Stop._ *

Wilhelmina stopped.

"Your playing is terrible," Surreal hissed.

"I know," Wilhelmina said calmly. "I blame my teacher."

"What?"

"I hated learning, as a child," Wilhelmina explained. "The same woman taught Jaenelle and me Craft, and dancing, too, and she was... a sour old bitch, to put it mildly."

"Your Craft had better be more accomplished than your piano-playing," Surreal said, appalled.

"It is," Wilhelmina assured her. "Craft is useful; I learned it more fully later. This isn't. Well, I guess it was useful just now." She looked self-deprecatingly down at the piano. "I apologise."

"You should," Surreal said. "That was dire. Mother Night, how did you get this far in life, trying to please everyone?"

"Well," Wilhelmina said, with a crooked smile, "I'm not sure."

"I'd advise you to break the habit," Surreal snapped.

"Mm," Wilhelmina said. Surreal eyed her with exasperation, wondering if the words had sunk in or if Wilhelmina was merely agreeing for the sake of agreement.

The fraught pause that followed was broken at last by Amrita's return. "I am so sorry for the delay," she emphasised, "but everything is ready if you wish to have lunch now; or I can show you the animals we keep near the house, or there are other crafts to try."

"Lunch," Surreal said firmly, though the last suggestion confused her. What could a landen offer, concerning Craft?

Amrita smiled confidently. "Very well."

She led them back up the hallway, and opened the first door she had baulked at before. This room had wide windows with a view of a kitchen garden. A long bench was spread with a promising selection of breads, preserves, cold meats, and pastries; jugs of pale yellow and deep red liquids stood at the end. On one side of the bench, a table was crisply set with a patterned cloth and flowers in a vase, and on the other side of the bench, a small kitchen area with a hob and a coldbox implied that guests' particular requests could be prepared immediately, though the area was tidy and empty of preparations.

Amrita began to explain the contents of the bench. "We make the goat cheese ourselves - you can meet the goats later," she said. "The apples and plums come from our own orchards, but all of the jams and chutneys with figs or quince come from the farm just up the road from us, the Chandler farm. They make the whiskey, too," she added, tapping a jar marked Whiskey and Grapefruit Marmalade. "This is lemonade, and this is a cordial of tea and redcurrant..."

Wilhelmina was looking around her. "And if you'd like to freshen up, just try that door there," Amrita added solicitously, pointing at a door on the far wall. Wilhelmina took her suggestion; Surreal heard a tap running as she made her own selections.

After her first cautious trial of bread, cheese, and jam, Surreal was starting to think that Wilhelmina's choice for the day was to be enjoyed, not merely endured. She went back to the bench with a more adventurous spirit. "The hazelnut spread is very good with the soft cheese," Amrita encouraged her. "And try the bacon gingerbread." Surreal did.

Wilhelmina ate more slowly than Surreal, as she asked Amrita question after question in between bites. Where did everything come from? What was seasonal, and what wasn't? How much produce did Fairview Farm deliver to the city? Were there any Blood living nearby? 

Amrita answered willingly enough, only apologising that they had no fruit to can on hand, and so she could not show the Ladies the technique as part of the crafting section of their visit. Oh, Surreal realised, so that was what the landen woman had meant by that.

Amrita seemed at ease now, but they saw no other person during their lunch, nor heard any signs of activity elsewhere. Surreal doubted that was normal. Perhaps the other farm folk were nervous of Blood visitors - she had encountered that attitude often in Terreille, and for good reason.

Graysfang chewed on some meat scraps, and seemed entirely contented.

When they were done with their lunch, Wilhelmina asked again to see the animals, and Amrita led them - except Graysfang - outside. A small herd of goats was grazing on grass and hay in a pen on the opposite side of the house to the kitchen garden ("If they could see it, we'd never keep them out of it,") and the animals moved as one towards the visitors. 

"Spoiled things," Amrita said affectionately, and showed Surreal and Wilhelmina where to scratch and rub on the goats' silky heads and necks. "I'll be back in a moment with something you can feed them."

She came back around the house with a bag of raspberry canes. "Our raspberries fruit early, and we prune them soon after," she explained. "See how they like these." The canes were enthusiastically chewed, to everyone's satisfaction. 

Surreal held back a little when they went to visit the donkey next - she had avoided slobber when feeding the goats, but wasn't sure she'd manage as well here, with the apples Amrita provided. The donkey gave her an offended look, then resigned himself to attention from only his owner and _one_ new human.

She was much more willing to touch the last animals Amrita presented to them - eight rabbits kept for their wool, housed in hutches at the end of a barn. Their coats, although short, were among the softest things Surreal had ever touched. "They were shorn a month ago," Amrita explained, offering them a soft brush, "to make sure they grow it back in time for winter - you should see them when their coats are at full length." Her hands described a ball almost as wide as Graysfang. Surreal wasn't sure she believed this. The rabbits assertively nibbled the offered greenery. One attempted to nibble Wilhelmina along with a leaf - she pulled her hand back quickly, but did not appear ruffled.

"And now perhaps you'd like to put your feet up and do something practical," Amrita said, when the friendliest rabbit began to back away from Wilhelmina's hand.

"All right," Wilhelmina said enthusiastically, before Surreal could ask what the practical thing _was_. Surreal was going to have to cure her of that too.

Amrita got them settled in the room where they had eaten lunch and put a bucket of damp sticks in front of them. Surreal eyed them warily.

"There are other activities I can suggest, but this would seem to fit best into the time available," their host said deferentially. "These shoots have been cut to the correct length to weave baskets. Unless you'd prefer to card wool, or see the loom?"

"This will be fine," Wilhelmina said firmly, and reached out towards the willow shoots.

Surreal sighed, and resigned herself to painstaking instructions for a skill she'd never use again, and make-work with no useful result.

She and Wilhelmina created bases for their baskets under Amrita's close inspection, starting with paired groups of shoots set at right-angles to each other, then wound around with a thin shoot, like a string, that turned into the weft of the weaving.

Before the rhythm of the weaving had become quite natural, the task changed, and they were directed to cut some shoots and add others to create the sides of their baskets.

It was a small mollification that the secateurs Amrita provided them with for trimming the willow shoots were very, very sharp. Surreal approved. It was also mollifying that Wilhelmina took instruction well, and took to the task with confidence, so that Surreal did not have to wait on her mistakes.

There was, once Surreal allowed herself to admit it, something soothing about working with the willow shoots. Although Amrita explained that the shoots had already passed through several processes - first cut, then dried and shrunk, then soaked again - there was still enough life in the shoots, enough connection to the earth, that Surreal could feel it, as a current, as a trace.

Queens _needed_ this touch and trace and connection to the living world, but it was good for other Blood castes too. Perhaps Amrita had had more dealings with Blood visitors than had been first apparent, and her choice of a "craft" activity had been canny.

They built up the sides of their baskets, made handles, wove in the ends for a smooth finish, clipped the remaining spokes, and considered their work. Surreal's was a bit lopsided; Wilhelmina's trimming was uncertain, with spiky bits that would only become more spiky as the shoots dried. "Do we take these away with us?" Wilhelmina asked diffidently.

Amrita laughed. "Only if you want to. They need to dry a while before they can be used. You can take some back with you from our stores, to remember the day's work." She gave them a basket each. These baskets were almost offensively polished and tidy, in Surreal's eyes, compared to her own work.

The complementary baskets proved to be another ploy. Here, after all, was a means for guests to carry produce away with them. That was not so necessary for those of the Blood, who could vanish objects, but Surreal appreciated the tactic. Wilhelmina selected enough chutneys and jams, vinegars and pickles, almost to fill her basket.

"I thought I'd bring something back for Mrs. Beale," she explained to Surreal. "She makes such wonderful food, and she's been very kind."

"Mrs Beale?" Surreal blinked. She placed the name as belonging to SaDiablo Hall’s cook. She hadn't met the woman, only heard mutterings... "Isn't Saetan a bit... nervous about her?"

Wilhelmina frowned. "I don't know, but Lucivar is. I don't know why they would be. Do you know why?"

Surreal shrugged. "Maybe it's a male thing. Anyway, I'm sure she'll appreciate the gifts."

Wilhelmina smiled, and returned to picking out preserves.

Surreal didn't see the amount of coins Wilhelmina handed over at the end of their visit, but Amrita's gratified smiles, amid duckings of her head, suggested it had been generous. Well. Clearly Wilhelmina was happy at the way she'd spent her day. Surreal found herself relieved. Her babysitting was successful.

She had no qualms about encouraging Wilhelmina to find them a path home on the Winds; they had had exercise enough for the day, and the afternoon sun was lowering.

* * *

The streets that Wilhelmina dropped them into were unfamiliar, but Surreal was more confident of her bearings than she had been the previous day. She had left a tracing-spell in her room at Losselia’s inn, and it helped to orient her now. 

The direct route had disadvantages to it. Surreal noted that many of the shops they passed in this part of town were closed and boarded up. There were few passersby, and those they saw avoided their eyes. Surreal frowned, increased her shields, and directed Graysfang to scout out ahead of them for unfriendly groups.

She'd lived in neighbourhoods like this for years, back in Terreille. Making do was one thing, especially once you got to know some of the locals, because most people didn't want trouble. But they wouldn't step in to end trouble if it started, especially if it involved strangers or strays. Surreal had no intention of dallying. She wanted to be in better-travelled places by the time the sun set.

Trouble met with them anyway.

A door closed behind Surreal, and she glanced back, to see that a man had come out into the street. In passing, his appearance would not have caught her eye. He had dark hair and deep-toned skin, like many other Amdarh residents; he was shorter than her, and stocky, his clothes dull in colour except for red detailing on his sleeves. However, he had stopped completely still and was staring at them.

This wasn't in Surreal's playbook. Trusting in her shields, she turned back to Wilhelmina and Graysfang. *Graysfang, come back, stay close to Wilhelmina,* she called him.

Wilhelmina, hearing Surreal stop walking, also stopped. She looked at Surreal, then past her, as more footsteps sounded in the street. What she saw clearly frightened her.

Surreal turned fully, now. There were seven men in the street, and she recognised two of them.

She didn't allow her expression to change. Inwardly, she groaned. Why had the first man raised the alarm? Had he seen her, the previous night at the theatre, because he'd been present to retrieve the two ruffians they'd trapped? (Those two ruffians glared defiantly at her now, but stood toward the back of the group.) Whatever their bad luck in encountering each other again, why had he compounded it by not simply letting Surreal, Wilhelmina and Graysfang walk innocently on?

The men's expressions' flickered; they were obviously conferring on a spear thread, the first intelligent thing she'd seen them do yet. Two were significantly burlier than the two they'd met before. Surreal hoped dourly that this was to compensate for lower Jewel strength.

"Keep back, but don't run. Stay with Graysfang," Surreal said quietly to Wilhelmina. She wasn't pleased about the odds - especially if there were more of the gang still in the building they'd emerged from - but she also wasn't happy about running blindly through a district she'd never been in before.

The foremost four men wore knives at their belts, their jackets arranged to show them off, not hide them. One wore a tough-looking jerkin with a slash down the side, carelessly repaired - meant to draw the eye to where he'd been stabbed and survived. Surreal wondered if the person who'd rent the jerkin was still alive; she wouldn't wager on it.

"What do you want?" she challenged.

The largest of the men grinned. It pulled at scar tissue from an old slash low on his jaw. Perhaps his past opponent had been trying to cut his throat.

"It's a bit too late for that," he answered.

Surreal didn't like the sound of that. Fine; she'd give them what they _didn't_ want.

"Don't come any closer," she warned, her hands at her side. Each hand was empty for now, but was loosely curved around the shape of the handle of a knife.

They ignored her. The man with the scar on his jaw looked sideways, nodding, and three of his cronies stepped forward. The Opal-Jewelled Warlords continued to hang back. They were probably the weakest of today's group. It figured.

Surreal didn't take the time to try to gauge her opponents' Jewel strength. She called in two knives and threw them, each with a burst of force at the full strength of the Gray. Better to spend it now, to cut down the numbers against them, than to save it for later. 

The third man glanced at his dropped companions - and charged. He was the tallest of the gang; his strides were long and rapid.

*Protect Wilhelmina,* Surreal urged Graysfang once more, and called in another knife.

Knowing there was another fighter standing between Wilhelmina and danger allowed her to sidestep her attacker's charge. Anticipating the move, he slashed out with his own knife, obviously hoping to wound her as he passed. It was an error. She'd thickened her shields - all he got for it was a jarred wrist as the blade met complete resistance. He stumbled, and she pivoted to kick the back of his knee, hard, while he was still off-balance. He half-lurched, half-rolled out of her reach, and she circled around him again - preferring to have Graysfang, rather than the rest of the gang, at her back. 

Graysfang howled once in encouragement. 

Rising quickly to one knee, the tall man got his knife hand up to guard himself before she could dart in to stab or slash.

Without looking upward, she called in the block she used to sharpen her knives, fifteen feet above his head. At the same time, she called in a further knife, readied it, and threw it through the space he would have occupied, had he risen to his feet. That knife hit the larger Opal-Jewelled Warlord high in the thigh and went deep. Meanwhile, the caution that had kept the kneeling man down saw the block she'd dropped on him thunk satisfyingly across the back of his shoulders.

He wasn't injured. His shields seemed to be at Purple Dusk strength or higher. But he was distracted, allowing Surreal to step in and stab downward into his shoulder, breaking his shields by draining recklessly from her own Jewels.

Four men down.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem to have deterred their leader. His two remaining companions - the man with the red sleeves and the other Warlord from the theatre - were giving each other grim looks, but the scarred man just smiled. "I'll take the bitch," he said. "You get the girl and the dog."

_Will you now,_ Surreal thought grimly, and called in the best of her remaining knives.

Graysfang growled.

The shields around the scarred man were so thick they shimmered when he stepped through shadows - and it was shadows everywhere now. All along the street, only the tops of the buildings were still touched by sunlight. The large man closed with Surreal quickly, a machete in his right hand. 

He stabbed at her with it, and with his left hand, he tried to grab at her, clearly confident in the advantage he’d have if it came to grappling. She ducked; he turned with her, and tried to strike again. At first, she only dodged around him, drawing him away from the other gang members. Although most were moaning on the ground, they might have the wherewithal to trip her if she danced too close. 

The other two uninjured men moved past Surreal and their leader, giving them a wide berth. In circling, Surreal lost sight of them. However, she heard Graysfang’s growl - then a satisfying crunch, and a human cry of pain, after which his growl resumed.

Blade up, her opponent lunged yet again. Surreal decided to give him what he wanted. In a sense.

Continuing to duck and dodge, she let him drive her to the side of the street. She pretended not to realise that she was being crowded up to the wall of a building until the wall was almost pressing against her back. A step backward, and her heel hit the wall. Keeping her hands low, she let her face take on a shocked expression as if she had just realised that she was trapped. He, smiling in triumph, swung his machete at her neck with enough force to take her head off.

Surreal let it happen.

Most of the Blood could use Craft to pass one solid object through another. Most preferred to restrict this technique to non-lethal situations, and to objects that were under their sole control. 

Surreal had trained herself to apply the method more widely. She reached out mentally, now, to find and feel the blade as he swung it - to guide it, harmlessly, straight through her flesh - and to let it go, embedded deep in the wall behind her neck.

Then she drove her own knives into the scarred man's stomach, drawing as deep on her own Jewels as she could without shattering them.

Breathless, he managed to moan, his grip on the handle of his weapon all that kept him upright. She turned her head sideways, and bit his fingers. He collapsed in front of her, and she kicked him out of the way as she strode towards Wilhelmina and Graysfang.

One man - the second Opal-Jewelled Warlord - was lying on the ground, curled up around himself, his leg savaged. The other, his shields shimmering thickly about him, loomed over Graysfang. He seemed to have scored a hit on the wolf, whose side was dark with blood. 

Graysfang jumped up, snapping, attempting to bowl their last enemy over, but Wilhelmina was close behind him; he did not have enough of a run-up to give the leap sufficient force. The man knocked the young wolf aside and lifted his weapon to strike Wilhelmina.

Howling, Graysfang collected himself and bit the last attacker high on his leg, through cloth, as Wilhelmina cowered back. Surreal did not see how successful he was against the man’s protections, but he got the man’s attention; his adversary turned and again smashed him down - with a fist gleaming with metal. 

This time, the man stabbed downwards with his other hand to finish Graysfang off.

Wilhelmina stepped forward, putting one delicate hand between Graysfang and the knife.

_No!_ Surreal thought, surging forward with frustration as well as fear. She'd told Wilhelmina to stay back - how could she be so stupid -

The blade shattered on Wilhelmina's hand in a burst of Sapphire fire.

Surreal grabbed their last enemy, hooked her leg around his, and sent him flying.

"Stop! Stop!" came voices at the corner of the street, and people flooded in: other faces that Surreal recognized from the previous night, but this time from the offices of the Guard.

"About time," Surreal muttered, but it was Wilhelmina at whom she directed a hard, puzzled stare.


	4. Chapter 4

The efforts of the witches and Warlords of the Guard to separate out the combatants and administer aid was at first more chaotic than the fight itself.

As Surreal stepped closer to Wilhelmina, wanting to ask how Wilhelmina had suddenly defended herself, no fewer than three people rushed between her and the other witch, ordering Surreal to drop her weapons. Scowling at the idea of putting her weapons aside without cleaning them, Surreal vanished the last knife she was holding, then stared down the witch who seemed about to protest. “I’m not giving you my knives,” Surreal told her. “But I won’t call them again unless you give me reason to. Do you understand me?”

The witch sniffed. “Your name,” she said.

“Surreal,” Surreal answered. “And we’re fine, thanks for asking, but Lord Graysfang will need help.”

*You can tell me I’m wrong,* she added to the wolf, *but you might as well save the effort.* He gave no reply, other than broadcasting weariness and pain and a very faint sense of amusement. He was panting slightly.

The witch gave the wolf a disbelieving look and moved on. “Hey,” Surreal said.

The other witch and Warlord who’d rushed over to Surreal closed ranks, glaring at Surreal when she tried to call the prissy witch back.

“Balls,” Surreal muttered. “Wilhelmina, how is he?”

“I’ve put a shield over the wound, but it’s a long cut,” Wilhelmina said apologetically. “And I’m no Healer. I don’t have the skill to apply pressure in the right way.”

 _We’ll talk about your skills later,_ Surreal thought.

There were Healers present, but their attention was entirely on the injured gang. Two of the men were past helping. _I’m losing my touch,_ Surreal thought, but she didn't mean it. The point had been to remove the ability of each man to threaten her, not - necessarily - to inflict death.

However, she couldn't find it in her to feel a lot of pity over a fight that she had not sought and would happily have avoided.

“What now?” she challenged the witch and Warlord guarding her. Neither could be higher than Green in rank. If they thought they could hold her here, they would soon learn better.

“Wait, Lady,” the Warlord answered neutrally. He nodded past her to the kerfuffle as the gang were stabilised, bound, and bundled into carriages. Surreal supposed she might as well wait for the authorities to be done with their attackers.

She didn't even have to wait that long. The Prince she'd spoken to the previous night approached them before the first carriage had begun to move, followed by the same witch from the night shift.

"I'm sorry to see you in trouble again," the Prince said dryly. He was well-dressed and unruffled, as if he'd arrived on the scene in no particular hurry. His dark eyes met Surreal's directly, but didn't give much away.

"We were in trouble," Surreal replied coolly. "We dealt with it."

He frowned. "That remains to be seen," he contradicted her. "We will require your account of this incident. Come with us."

"What about Graysfang?" Wilhelmina spoke up. "He needs help."

The Guard witch who had been standing by them scowled. "Look, your pet -"

"He's not my pet." There was plenty of bite in Wilhelmina's voice. "He was defending me. And he's hurt."

Wilhelmina glared fiercely at the Guard surrounding her; the Prince raised his eyebrows at Surreal. "I suppose, if you came with us," he said to Surreal, "I could allow your companion a period of time to seek aid for your wolf, if she then returned to give her statement."

Send Wilhelmina to roam the city by herself, after they'd been ambushed? _Like Hell._ "If you're so keen not to lose sight of Lady Wilhelmina, send someone with her," Surreal snarled. "Because if anything happens to her while _I'm_ cooperating with you, I'll rip your balls off, rip your earrings out, and hang your balls from your ears in their place. _Don't try me._ "

The Prince's lips thinned, but he exchanged nods with the witch behind him. "There's few enough animal Healers open for business at this hour," the witch muttered. But she stepped up to Wilhelmina, lifted Graysfang with suitably careful Craft, and led the wolf and Wilhelmina off toward the far end of the street.

As Wilhelmina's figure dwindled in the dusk, Surreal's disquiet grew beyond the surface rage she'd vented at the Guard members. She sent out a thought on a Sapphire distaff thread, uncertain if it would find its target. *Lady Wilhelmina? Wilhelmina, please, every half hour, tell me where you are. If you don't, I'll come looking for you.*

Nothing; and the figure did not turn its head. The Prince courteously extended an arm; she shook it off impatiently, but followed him to a carriage. As the horses began to move, she heard a reply, faint and unfamiliar: *All right, Surreal.*

* * *

The bodies of the two men Surreal had killed rode in the carriage with her, which quelled any desire for conversation. It wasn't that she was squeamish. Far from it. But it felt as though the Prince and his subordinates were trying to make a point, and Surreal preferred to wait them out without reacting.

She did, however, retrieve her knives from the men's bodies, clean them, as best she could, and vanish them. One weapon was nicked, a fragment lost from the tip of the blade where she had driven it into bone.

As the bodies cooled, her temper... did not. She was not sure what to make of these representatives of city authority, and their clear hostility. Was their officiousness due to suspicion of an outsider? Naïveté, because they did not often deal with bloody struggles? Were the Guard members infected with cowardice, or cynicism? One way to deal with trouble was to pretend that it did not exist - and resent those who challenged this convenient fiction.

Surreal knew what the Guard members' supercilious words and closed looks would have meant, back in Terreille. But, for now, she resisted translating this into conclusions for Kaeleer.

Perhaps it was she who was being naïve.

* * *

They arrived at the offices of the Guard. Surreal was shown to a tiny room off a long corridor, where she waited.

It was effectively a cell, for all that the witch who had placed her in it had made a point of not bolting the barred "door". Members of the Guard passed by at least once a minute, but they barely glanced in. Surreal's temper climbed.

Around her, conversations ebbed and flowed. Some were slow; some low and intense; many full of curses; few decipherable. Beyond the curses, that was.

It would have been tempting to call her knives back in and sharpen them, but the room was hung about with a tricky bit of Craft that seemed designed to prevent calling in objects. Surreal could have removed it - but she judged this to be a waste of her returning Jewel strength, and unlikely to progress things.

Not that sitting politely still was getting her anywhere.

When she was just about ready to storm to her feet and demand an audience, Wilhelmina's thought reached her. *I think we've found a Healer, Lady Surreal,* the witch told her. Surreal's ire ebbed a little.

*Is the Guard witch still with you? Where are you?* she asked.

*Yes,* Wilhelmina sent, then she sent an image of a street corner, apparently her last intersection. After that, she sent an idea Surreal couldn't decipher, a blurry dark image swirled about with colours. Was that what the Winds looked like to those who were most trained in travelling them? Surreal spent the next fifteen minutes muttering under her breath and trying to match Wilhelmina's sending to a direction and distance.

At least it occupied her time.

At last, the Prince appeared in the corridor and unlatched her door.

"Lady Surreal," he said, politely enough.

"Prince...?" Surreal trailed off in response, more to underscore his poor manners in failing to give his name earlier than out of curiosity.

"Eshok," he replied. "We will talk somewhere more comfortable."

He led her past the foyer they'd come in by. The room they arrived at was not much larger than the cell - but at least its walls were not bare, and it had a friendlier feel to it. Eshok left the door open.

The Prince asked her to recount the afternoon's event. At first, his questions were simple and innocuous. He asked her to clarify such points as the time she and Wilhelmina had left Amdarh that morning, and where and when they had re-entered the city. His eyebrows climbed as Surreal explained their unorthodox method of return, but he did not challenge it.

As she described the attack, he interrupted only to check details - "Can you remember the number of the house they came out of? No? Would you recognise it again?" and to repeat back to her what he was writing down.

Surreal's fury began to dissolve into a more general frustration. Her muscles, especially her shoulders and neck, ached - she had not had time to stretch, under the Guard members' suspicious eyes; nor had she had sufficient space to stretch in the room they'd stowed her in. She had drained the glass of water Eshok had offered her in the first ten minutes of their interview, and he had not offered to refill it. She was tired of this, and Wilhelmina was due to check in.

"The last man, the one who saw us in the street, was fighting Graysfang, who was already hurt," she said. "He knocked Graysfang to the ground, and then I arrived. I grappled with him and caused him to fall." She decided not to mention Wilhelmina's part; it was hard to describe accurately what she was not herself certain of. "Then you arrived on the scene."

She twirled her empty glass pointedly in her hand. "There. Are we done?"

"Not quite," Prince Eshok said. "You say, earlier, that you told the other parties not to approach..."

"Yes," Surreal said. "I warned them off. They weren't inclined to listen."

"A warning generally conveys some information about consequences," Eshok corrected. Surreal stared at him. Of all the pissy little things to care about... But the sooner this ended, the sooner she could return to Wilhelmina and Graysfang. She _really_ didn't like how long she'd had to leave her companions guarded merely by the Prince's subordinate.

"Hmm," Eshok said ponderously.

"And?" Surreal demanded.

"Yes. Well. And then you threw knives intending to injure two men?"

"The foremost men." Surreal repeated herself. "They approached, after all. Despite my warn..." She corrected herself. "Despite being told not to."

"And at that time, none of them had drawn weapons, correct?"

Surreal didn't like the sound of this. "Are you trying to make a point?"

"I merely wish to have an accurate account," Eshok said. _Sure. And I was born yesterday._

From there, the interview went downhill. Eshok asked his questions in a mild, innocent tone that Surreal was coming to despise - but they were not innocent questions. He picked at every difference in wording between her earlier account and the information she repeated to him now.

*Graysfang has been healed, Surreal.* Wilhelmina's mental voice was clearer now, and tinged with relief. *He will stay in a restorative sleep until tomorrow. We are going back to the inn.*

Good... but then Wilhelmina would be truly alone. *Will the witch continue to guard you?*

*Yes. It's all right. She says she'll take my statement at the inn.*

That would buy Surreal more time to return - but she did not trust Eshok's lackey to conduct her interview any more sympathetically than this one.

Eshok was speaking. "Have you forgotten what happened?" he asked. She'd missed a question.

"I was speaking with Lady Wilhelmina," she snapped back. "I didn't hear you."

"Of course. To corroborate your story." His face was so blank that the insult did not immediately register. Surreal hissed with frustration. The Prince glanced away, as if to give her a moment to compose himself, but Surreal saw a tiny smirk.

 _This gutter bastard is playing a very, very stupid game,_ she thought. And she was no longer interested in playing it with him.

He was damn lucky she'd drained her Gray Jewels so deeply earlier - though she still had the power of the Green to fall back on. And he was damn lucky he wasn't playing his games with someone like Lucivar or Daemon.

Surreal sometimes found it useful to be underestimated. Now was not one of those times.

What finally tipped her temper over the edge, however, was hearing too-familiar voices in the foyer behind them.

Without asking Eshok for permission, she stood up and stared through the doorway. The five men who'd managed to survive the stupidity of attacking her were clustered around the desk - well enough to walk, with the exception of their leader, who had been granted a chair with wheels. The man whose leg Graysfang had torn up had a crutch, but otherwise looked depressingly well cared for.

"You're letting them go?" she demanded of Eshok. "With what, a scolding?"

The man with the crutch lifted it to point at her, nudging his companions. He laughed nastily.

"Ah," Surreal said bitterly. "Not even a stern word."

Eshok said, "They have bail conditions. Further, they may have tried to attack you, but they had little success."

"And isn't that convenient," Surreal snarled. "You miserable, unacknowledged child of carrion and gutter trash! Make up your mind, was I supposed to defend myself or not? Or is it too much to ask you to keep your insinuations straight? I suppose I should be pleasantly surprised if you can _piss_ straight."

Prince Eshok hadn't lost his smirk.

Idiot. Fatuous idiot. Even if she could wipe the smugness off his face, it would take so much damn _work_ to pierce his self-satisfaction that the pleasure of it would be trivial in comparison.

"We're done here," she told him.

"If you have nothing further to add to your story..."

"No."

He shuffled the papers in front of him. "You will wish to check the record before you are released."

 _No shit._ Perhaps he had hoped Surreal would be angry enough to forego this part, and demand to leave. But she did, in fact, want to see how many of his aspersions appeared in what he'd written down.

She slogged through the Prince's handwriting.

The record, oddly enough, was neutral and reasonably accurate, reflecting the tone Prince Eshok had taken in the first half of their interview.

When she looked up, he was watching her intently, the smirk gone.

Perhaps there was something further to this male than bureaucracy and ego... but at the moment, figuring out what was going on with him was the least of Surreal's concerns.

"I am satisfied - with the record," she said grudgingly. "And now I'm going to leave."

Prince Eshok did not try to delay her further. Paperwork was already waiting for her at the entrance desk. She skimmed it, signed it, and paid the demanded fee. Someone, she supposed, had to pay for those Healers - although she found it hard to imagine that anyone else in this office earned their keep.

She stalked back through the streets - following the same route that she, Wilhelmina and Graysfang had walked yesterday, after their previous visit to the Guard.

It was an inauspicious way to retrace her steps.

And if she was less than happy, how must Wilhelmina be feeling?

Go to Amdarh, Saetan had said. Members of the household go for shopping and entertainment, he'd said. He hadn't exactly mentioned street warfare.

No one approached Surreal between the Guard offices and the inn.

* * *

When Surreal arrived back at their rooms, the Guard witch who had been Wilhelmina's escort immediately excused herself. At least, Surreal thought darkly, there was _one_ member of the Guard who was appropriately alarmed by her temper.

She studied Wilhelmina. The witch was pale, and at some point in the last two hours, she had been crying. But she was composed now. "I'm glad you're back," she told Surreal.

Surreal grunted. "Did you have any trouble finding a Healer for Graysfang?" she asked. The wolf had been arranged across a low couch.

"A little," Wilhelmina said. "The first one didn't want to let us in, but I didn't like the look of her anyway. I don't think she was a good Healer. The second one tried to send us on to someone else. But I changed his mind." She smiled a little. She looked proud of herself.

"Good."

"What did the Guard do?" Wilhelmina asked.

"Very little," Surreal said shortly.

"...Oh."

Wilhelmina looked crushed. "This isn't what I hoped," she said quietly.

"Sorry," Surreal muttered.

"It's not your fault," Wilhelmina said. "I meant Amdarh, Kaeleer... You were wonderful today. You kept us safe."

"And you didn't panic," Surreal returned. "You did what I told you and stayed back. Except at the end. What did you do, just before the Guards came? Where did you learn to..." She trailed off, still uncertain of exactly what she had seen.

"Use a shield like that?" Wilhelmina asked. "It was just a shield."

Really. "Sugar, I didn't even see you bring it up."

"It was always up," Wilhelmina said.

Surreal frowned, looking at Wilhelmina's wrist and trying to see even the faintest shimmer of a shield where her sleeve ended. Her sleeve... "Yesterday, when you fell off the stool at the dressmaker's, were you wearing a shield then?"

"Yes."

Which meant a constant drain on her Jewels... even with shields so thin that Surreal couldn't see them.... which ought to be of little use, except that Wilhelmina clearly knew a trick Surreal didn't. Surreal shook her head, her respect growing. "What you did to defend Graysfang wasn't like any shield I've seen."

"I drove the Coaches," Wilhelmina reminded her. "The driver shields the Coach against the Winds. The Winds aren't tame. They pull at your shields and fray them. I had to learn how to make a shield that was responsive, that would redistribute strength to the point where force was applied."

"I see," Surreal said. She was genuinely impressed. Wilhelmina smiled.

"I didn't think I would _break_ the knife," she confided. "I just knew I could stop it."

"You acted quickly," Surreal said approvingly. She was beginning to realise that Wilhelmina had known what she was doing.

Wilhelmina looked down at the sleeping Graysfang. "I wish I could have done more..."

"But I told you to stay back," Surreal said firmly. "Much better than getting in the way."

"Mm," Wilhelmina said. "And the Healer told me he will recover... Tomorrow we can take him back to the Hall, to Jaenelle. He will recover," she repeated more firmly.

It made sense to take Graysfang to Jaenelle, but it was still a piss-poor way to return from their trip. And the conclusions they must both draw from that holiday were... unsettling. How would Wilhelmina feel, the next time someone suggested she leave SaDiablo Hall? Surreal didn't dare ask.

"Yes," she said instead, "we can go back tomorrow. But before that, there are things I need to do."

"Oh?" Wilhelmina said warily.

"Well, first, food would be nice," Surreal said thoughtfully, "and maybe a bath, though that might be a waste, really. Then I'm going hunting."

Wilhelmina drew in a quick, nervy breath. Surreal held her gaze.

"The city Guard healed those men and let them go," she said. "And, as far as I can tell, called that the end of things. Well, I don't know about you, but I'd prefer things to end a little differently. And a little more permanently."

Wilhelmina was shaking her head. "You don't need to, surely..."

"I think I do," Surreal said. "Besides, if we get back to SaDiablo Hall and tell this story, I know exactly how Lucivar and Daemon will react. Or had you planned not to tell them?"

She wasn't as certain as she wanted to appear. She expected that Daemon, Lucivar, and Saetan would react with protective and devastating fury.

She also wanted to avoid that, if she could.

But she wasn't sure if they would be outraged because attacks like this were unthinkable... or because they merely seemed unthinkable to people as visibly powerful as Saetan and his "boyos".

In Terreille, Surreal had observed that the world looked rather different if the viewer happened to possess balls and a cock.

She had hoped that wasn't true in Kaeleer in quite the same way.

Wilhelmina looked trapped. "Are you sure you shouldn't wait?" she asked. Maybe she thought Lucivar and Daemon would actually talk Surreal _out_ of finding and killing the males who'd attacked them. Ha.

"No," Surreal replied. "My way's cleaner." Her way wouldn't involve bathing city districts in blood.

Wilhelmina opened her mouth again, and closed it. Well, at least she was smart enough not to ask if Surreal could win. Surreal took pity on her. "You saw what happened when someone got the jump on me," she said. "It's a very different story when _I_ get the jump on _them_. There’s a saying: ‘once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, three times is the action of an enemy’. Well, they’ve made an enemy."

They ate in the taproom. Wilhelmina was quiet; Surreal did not press her for conversation. After the meal, she bathed, then stretched thoroughly and checked her weapons.

"How will you find them?" Wilhelmina asked.

"I have a few tricks," Surreal said.

One was the fragment of the blade that had snapped in her attacker’s body. Her knives were among her dearest possessions - and the most thoroughly spelled. The fragment could be traced.

"Don't worry, sugar," Surreal told Wilhelmina. "I'll be back."

"Okay," Wilhelmina said. She attempted a smile. "I'll put a Sapphire lock on the room."

"You do that," Surreal said. "And if anyone tries to break it, _call me_."

"Okay, Surreal."

Surreal smiled at her. Wilhelmina winced.

* * *

That smile deterred many travellers. Ordinary passersby suddenly found reason to be on the other side of the street as Surreal approached. Trouble, it seemed, was harder to find than it had been earlier in the day. But Surreal was sure she'd meet up with it soon enough.

The trace spell led her in a new direction: past exclusive-looking businesses and expensive-looking houses, past a river, past more houses, and past a park - although Surreal wasn't sure where the park ended, because the houses after that were surrounded by lawns and trees, each possessing almost a park of its own. It was to one of these houses that the trace led her.

Surreal could see light in only two windows. She approached cautiously, probing discreetly. Many of the spells she could use were designed to affect more than one target; she wanted to be sure of exactly who was in the house before she released such Craft.

She detected several distinct concentrations of Blood power in the area, signs of life.

As she approached a small door at the back of the house, one of those signs of life disappeared.

Surreal called up a sight shield - not as good as some the Kindred could summon, but effective enough in the dark. She tried the door and found it locked by neither mechanical bolts, nor Craft. There was a trace of a spell on it, but fading, as though the witch or Warlord who cast the spell had recently come to the end of their strength.

Or died.

There was no living presence in the room Surreal had entered, so she kindled a ball of witchlight - and discovered two dead men instead.

One of them had walked out of the Guard offices earlier that evening.

A quarrel between them? A clash between competing gangs? They had died violently. Whoever had killed them had not cared to be tidy; the men’s blood lay pooled underneath them, and it looked to Surreal as though they did not lie as their bodies had fallen, but rather as those bodies had been kicked aside.

Surreal stepped soundlessly past them and eased another door slowly open. She was in an empty corridor now - but light shone from behind a door only a few steps away.

"Have you anything further to say?"

That was _Prince Eshok's_ voice, behind the door.

A female voice answered him. "Screw you! Go to Hell for the _Harpies_ to screw you."

There was a pause - then Surreal heard a wet, heavy sound that she could identify very, very easily, and another of the live presences in the house disappeared.

Eshok again: "Finish the kill. We're done here."

 _We'll see about that,_ Surreal thought.

She waited in the hallway for them, laying spells across the door to counter Craft they might use against her. She floated a witchlight ball above her head. Answers now mattered more to her than discretion. And if she didn't like the answers... she still had more advantages over the five people presently in the house than they were likely to imagine.

The first person through the door was Eshok.

"Ah," he said. "Lady Surreal."

"You can skip the pleasantries," Surreal informed him sharply. “Just tell me what in Darkness’ name is going on here."

"The execution of an unlawful First and Second Circle," he answered readily, "and the Queen they followed."

* * *

Prince Eshok was courteous, direct, and forthcoming - now.

"You were baiting me on _purpose_?" Surreal asked in disbelief.

"I was baiting the men who attacked you,” Eshok answered. 

“Over the last few months, that gang has widened the scope of their criminal activities; they have become bolder, and made more mistakes," he explained. "But not when it came to their Queen. It has taken us a very long time to encourage them to lead us to her. I did not expect them to attempt murder on a public street. It seems that the house you saw them coming out of was a valuable location for them, where goods were exchanged. However, believing that their attack on you was not taken seriously... helped considerably in bolstering their arrogance. Having compromised their safehouse, they finally led us here."

"You wanted me to lose my temper in front of them,” Surreal repeated.

"It helped," Prince Eshok said. "You may not believe me, but when I finished here, I would have called by the inn where you were staying to explain matters to you."

"And if we'd departed by then?" Surreal retorted. "You didn't exactly convince me of Amdarh's welcome."

"That would have been a pity," Prince Eshok said evenly. "But the risk paid off."

Surreal begged to disagree with his methods. But she was forced to admire the brazenness of healing criminals and releasing them... while planning their imminent slaughter.

And the slaughter of a Queen, an act even Surreal shrank from. That went beyond brazen.

“It’s a rare Prince of the Blood who would take the name Queen-killer as a boast,” she said, and watched his composure slip at last.

“Not as a boast,” he said stiffly. “As my duty.”

“Your Queen ordered you to kill another Queen?” Surreal hated to be in the position of asking that question. In Terreille, she wouldn’t even have had to ask.

“You’re from Terreille,” Prince Eshok said slowly.

“Funny,” Surreal said. “All of a sudden, I’m not sure I left.”

“No,” Prince Eshok shook his head violently. “Lady Surreal, listen. Queens rule here, and serve the land, and are served in their turn. Queens are protected and cherished.”

Surreal did not try to suppress a sneer.

“There are many Queens in Kaeleer, born to rich and poor families, families with a history of strong Queens, and those with no such history,” he said. “I serve Zhara who rules as Queen of Amdarh. When she was chosen, six other strong candidates stepped aside. Not every Queen in Kaeleer can rule a Court, have a Consort or a First Circle. Because the Shadow Realm, unlike degenerate Terreille -” with a sneer to answer hers - “does not persecute its Queens.”

A point to him. It was hard for Surreal to conceive of Queens who were not desperately needed, Queens who even had a _choice_ not to rule.

“There can only be one Queen of a city,” Eshok said. “But there may be many Queens _in_ that city. For most, some valuable role can be found. This one -” and he scowled at the door behind him, now closed “-chose to form a different kind of Court, perverting the purpose of the bond between a Queen and those who serve her. These men’s loyalty went beyond volition. They have answered for their crimes… but she has answered for a worse one.” He was vehement and grim.

“Now do you understand?”

“I’m not sure,” Surreal said slowly, turning over everything he had said. It was difficult to believe someone who had already shown her so many different faces. Even if this last Eshok, this blunt, practical killer, was someone she could relate to rather more easily than the other versions she had seen.

She wanted to believe him, and she was wary of that inclination. But: at least he understood her horror at the idea of Queen-killing. At least he’d understood the need to justify this act, even to a foreigner.

“There is nothing further I can say,” Prince Eshok said, watching her expressions change.

“There is one thing,” Surreal retorted.

“Ah, yes,” Prince Eshok said. “I apologise, to you and to the Lady Wilhemina. For provoking you, and for leading you to believe you were unsafe here.”

 _That belief has not been entirely disproven._ “I’ll reserve judgment,” she told him. 

*I’m coming back,* she told Wilhelmina on a distaff thread. *It’s… taken care of.*

* * *

When she arrived back at the inn, she gave a fuller explanation - or tried to. She wasn’t sure if Wilhelmina’s expression of doubt was due to the Prince’s behaviour and reasoning, or because of Surreal’s own mangled account of the same.

“He used us to set a trap,” Wilhelmina said.

“In a sense,” Surreal agreed

“Did he say what the men were doing at the theatre?" Wilhelmina asked. "Why Lord Garben’s box?”

“Another tangle,” Surreal said. “The man who sold us the tickets had nothing to do with the gang. He’d just realised that Lord Garben kept paying to reserve it, but didn't use it, and he wanted to make money from his Lord’s habits. Meanwhile, the Queen’s gang was using it for all kinds of meetings. One of the men in the gang had worked for Lord Garben before.”

“I see. And we just happened to…”

“Interfere,” Surreal concluded dryly.

Wilhelmina stared down at her hands, folded in her lap. Then she unfolded them, and reached out to stroke Graysfang.

“I’ve learned a lot about Amdarh,” she said contemplatively.

Surreal choked on a burst of laughter. “Sugar, you can say that again.”

"You said you knew how Daemon and Lucivar would react if we told them all about the theatre, and the gang, and the Guard," Wilhelmina said. "What exactly would they do?"

Surreal swallowed. "Retaliate. Protectively. Violently. However violent you're thinking, think more violent. Uh, not against _you_ , but..."

Wilhelmina was smiling the crooked version of her smile she'd worn when explaining about her piano teacher. "Scary people, our family."

"Singularly."

She was going to make a mess of it, but: "You don't have to stay at the Hall, you know," Surreal continued abruptly. She had to say _something_ , lest Wilhelmina return to SaDiablo Hall feeling even more trapped than she had two days ago - feeling that she had no place there, but now confirmed in her fears that there was nowhere else to go.

"No," Wilhelmina said quietly. "It's all right. I know I can leave if I want."

 _Good_ , Surreal thought, _good - I think..._ Wilhelmina's thoughts were still opaque to her, but this was a start.

“You asked if I was going to tell Daemon and Lucivar about getting attacked," Wilhelmina continued more briskly. “I guess we have to tell them something, but we should get our stories straight, shouldn’t we? I don’t want to rile them up… But I want to know. I can find a way of asking, gradually, I suppose, what part of this is Amdarh, and what part of this is…”

“What happened to happen when you and I wanted a nice little trip?”

“That.”

“Whatever that is.”

Wilhelmina's smile was more genuine now.

Then she looked up, head tilted, paying attention to something Surreal couldn’t hear. “We’re going to have to get our stories straight _right now_ ,” she said urgently. “Can’t you feel that?”

Surreal couldn’t, but she could guess what had startled Wilhelmina. She reached out at the depth of the Gray, as deep as her power went, and felt an answering echo… from a deeper power, and from nearby. There were very few witches or Warlords in all the Realms whose power descended beyond the Gray.

“They’re here, in Amdarh,” Wilhelmina said. “Jaenelle’s here.”

“Wonderful,” Surreal groaned.

“Isn’t it?” Wilhelmina teased. “I’ll tell them where to find us. Downstairs, I think. I fancy a drink, don’t you?”

Surreal was tempted. But avoiding the boys - and avoiding Jaenelle’s too-perceptive eyes - seemed like a safer option. And she was tired, and achy, and had a lot to think about.

And just a few more minutes of peace would be nice, before returning to the chaos of the SaDiablo family.

“I’ll keep an eye on Graysfang,” she said. “Good as a drink sounds right now, I’d actually prefer a book and this nice soft bed. You go, though. Don’t mind me.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Surreal said firmly.

Wilhelmina looked at her, then nodded. “All right,” she said. “So what shall we say about the expected and unexpected excitements to be found in the city of Amdarh?”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed Desiderii's art or fanmix, I recommend leaving comments [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4402538). Cheers. ^!^

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for Between Blue and Gray](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4402538) by [Desiderii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desiderii/pseuds/Desiderii)




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